A Tale of Forgotten Lore
by Crotalus24
Summary: When given the choice to face our greatest fears and failures, do we run, or do we embrace the present in hopes of forging a new future? Abandoned and betrayed by the woman they were most loyal to, they must now find trust and strength in each other and in a new companion or perish as they set out on a new journey into a long forgotten realm. (Note: Follows events after DA2.)
1. The Wolf and the Hawke

AN: All established characters and pretenses belong to Bioware, the rest is mine.

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There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope.  
~George Eliot

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Run.

It was all that could be done. It was all that could be thought. There was no turning back. All around there were shouts of disbelief, anguish, hate, but all were ignored as each thought was focused on placing the next step, dodging the next branch, leaping over the next stream. There was no distance that was great enough. There was no road that would lead far enough away. There was no sanctuary.

All that existed now was fear and the drive to flee.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"If you want him, he's yours."

No, he had heard her wrong. The mage was many things. Things he hated, things he feared, but she was not this. He rounded on the woman that he had followed and fought with for the past six years.

"What!"

"I thought I was the only one thinking that," the abomination mumbled behind him.

The dwarf scrutinized the dark haired mage as if it were all a bad joke, "You're kidding right?"

She wasn't. In the pit of his stomach, he knew she wasn't, but he still clung to the feeble tendrils of hope that this was all some ruse, a plot like so many others the manipulative mage had come up with in the past. But instead of the smug look Hawke usually had after one of his outbursts, the woman was stoic and refused to look him in the eye.

His old master smiled at this, "I knew a mage would be sensible. Of course, I'll make it worth your while. The power of the Imperium will be at your disposal."

"Don't do this Hawke," he practically pleaded to the mage. "I know we are not friends, but I can't face him without you."

It was only then that Hawke turned to him without even the barest hint of compassion, "You're on your own, Fenris."

It was as if he were frozen in place. His heart which had been racing with fear and panic now seemed to still with the sudden realization. It was over.

He dropped his head, "I suppose I should not be surprised."

"That's our Champion," Varric spat.

"What'll it be Fenris? Will you throw your life away?"

A part of him that still clung to the hope of some semblance of life reared up after his old master addressed him once more. He could fight and he could die right here. But what difference did that make? Despite everything, despite all that he thought he had gained, it would be all just so he could die like any other disobedient slave. He…he didn't want to die, not like this.

"No. I will go with you."

The bitterness of the words should have sickened him, but he was numb now. He didn't care.

"Lovely," Denarius purred. "Here's a token of my appreciation, Champion. I'm sure I can arrange for something more…appropriate sent along soon. Come along everyone. The boat for Minrathous leaves within the hour."

He didn't see their faces as he passed. He could bear to see them. He kept his eyes down and followed his master like the obedient pet he was trained to be. All the while, the fire that had been sparked all those years ago, the one that had inspired him to run, the one that had been nurtured and grew during his desperate race for freedom, was slowly dying. It didn't matter how much he had gained over the years or all that he had learned. By the time they reached the docks, he was hollow and felt foolish that it all could have ended any other way.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

This was wrong.

Where did it all go so wrong?

The dreams were haunted by unwanted memories while waking hours were plagued with guilt and shame. All that could be done was to forget and hide. Forget what it meant to be a part of them. Forget all notions of loyalty and honor and duty. Forget oneself entirely. For memories only served to way you down, to remind you of not only your failures but what you have lost and will never again be able to attain.

Desperation and pride had been the catalyst and now regret was to be worn as a mantle.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The ship groaned from the onslaught of the waves and wind. It was cold in the hold beneath the deck and his thin clothing did little to stave off the chill, but he hardly took notice of it. Because his meals were given infrequently and at random, his days in the darkness had melded into one long, eternal night. He knew not how long they had been out to sea, where they were, or how much longer it would be until they reached their destination. The only time when his isolation was interrupted was when his master would call upon him.

At first, he merely wished to inspect him. He would have him disrobe as he and one of his apprentices inspected every inch of his flesh for any damages or breaks in the lyrium bands. But when the apprentice suddenly grasped him, a lingering part of his old self came unbidden. He shattered the mage's arm and before he could even brace himself, the lyrium in his skin responded to his master's magic and fell to his knees besides the whimpering apprentice.

And so the rest of the voyage had been "to correct" his newly learned behavior. Some days had been easier than others. Those were the ones where he would force his head down and forget the six years he had spent in his mock freedom. Other days, the ones that left him hungry or in lingering pain, were the ones in which they could see that the last of his defiance had still not perished. Today had been one of those days.

As he sat in the hold, his bruised and battered body protested against the churning and pitching of the ship. In the distance, he heard as much as felt the thunder. It shook the planks and the wood beneath him. In the back of his mind, he wondered how far off the storm was. He closed his eyes, but it made little difference in the perpetual darkness. He had heard Denarius's displeasure from his actions over the past couple of days. There were rumors from his apprentice that they would have to take more drastic measures once they reached Minrathous.

The ship shuddered again under another heavy roll of thunder. This time it was followed by distant but frantic shouts from the crew above. The ship lurched to the side and he was thrown into the wall of the hull. Then, without warning, the ship itself seemed to explode around him. Shouts were swallowed up by the roaring water and wind. Already the cold sea water was almost to his knees. His first instincts were to run, but the heavy chains kept him tethered to the hull wall. Fenris struggled against them as the water rose each second, but they held fast. It wasn't until the water reached his chest that panic began to set in. He looked up through the hole that had once been the deck but all he saw was the churning black clouds of the storm and the brilliant flash of lightning that shattered the sky.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

We fight.

Not because we want to or because it's required of us, but because it is all we know now.

Perhaps there had been a time when to fight meant to protect, but now it is merely a hollow notion. The meaning long forgotten like so many other reasons. It has become instinct, and like so many other impulses, it is fed by our own lack of reasoning and desolation.

To fight is to kill. To kill is to survive.

But now it seems as though we fight for the same reason one would cast a stone into the darkness. To sound out into the emptiness that we are still here, we still draw breath, and to call out to others who would still hear us.

To survive is to exist.

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This monster *ahem* I mean story, has taken on a life of its own and because it is still a W.I.P constructive criticism and reviews are appreciated. Thanks all!


	2. The Shadows of Sundermount

Bioware still owns everything, the rest is the result of my overactive imagination. Enjoy.

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The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep.

~Robert Frost

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The night was so still. The sky was laced with dark clouds that promised the arrival of a vengeful storm, yet a full moon and its accompanying stars offered what trivial light it could through the gaps in the otherwise shrouded heavens. What moonlight that did pierce through was kept at bay by the blanket of mist that clung to the ground and the trunks of the stoic sentinels of the wood.

The silence of it all was near deafening.

Even the wind seemed hesitant to disturb the mute night as the trees were forced to merely whisper their secrets to one another. But the darkness and the stillness of the forest did not disturb her. She paid it little mind and in turn, she was left in peace. However, she could not quiet that small hope inside of her as she anticipated the call of some lone hunter during the night or even the calls of others. At the very least, she would know that she was not the sole wanderer of this forest tonight. But no call was heard. No sound of life stirred in the boughs of the trees or in the mist. She continued on, resolute in the fact that there would be no others.

It was only when she stood at the boundary of the wood and a great meadow that she was about to confine herself to the mist and its voiceless trees. Only a moment passed until she finally heard them. At first she thought it was a trick brought on by the foreignness of this new land, but as her ears sharpened, her blood began to quicken. The sound of metal ringing against metal was unmistakable. The fog muffled their approach, but they crashed through the undergrowth with such a clamor, that if it had been a clear night, she would have heard them a mile away. But now they were too close, and instinct dictated that she delve deeper into the forest before they breeched the tree line. She began to move away, but as she did, a lone figure emerged from the foliage and made her pause.

It was an elf, at least she believed he was one. In the pale, dwindling light of the moon, there was no mistaking the pure white of his hair nor the slight glow of the markings that covered his skin. Even parts of his exposed feet had them. Shouts were heard in the distance and the markings on the elf flared again. That glow was unmistakable. Lyrium. She began to back away with anew vigor. Why he wore it on his skin, she did not know, and she did not wish to know. The magical substance was coveted and feared by the people in this land, and from her experience, mages or those they called Templars were never far off. She was about to leave the stranger and turned away when the elf made a noise that stopped her.

In the stillness of the night, he could have whispered and she would have heard him, yet the sound he made was akin to a growl but not one made in a savage display. When she looked back, his whole body was slumped forward. It was then she could see the weariness that gripped him, the cuts that covered his feet and parts of his arms where his ragged clothing left him exposed, and the way he favored his right leg and side. He made the noise once more as he pulled a giant claymore free from his back and turned to wait for his pursuers.

She knew that look. It was a look that the wolf had right before the hunters had finally run it down and were about to take its heart.

They came through the trees just as she suspected they would and once more felt the need to seek sanctuary in the shadows of the forest. It was now at least ten to one. As soon as they began to encircle the elf, she could almost feel the magic in the air thicken. Amongst the armor and the swords she spotted the staves and the robes. One of the larger, more heavily armored men stepped forward as the rest started to fan out around the elf.

"You gave us a run for our money slave, but it's over."

The armored men began to tighten their circle as the mages placed themselves at a safe distance. Once more she hesitated. She was not here for this. The magic began to electrify the air as she felt her muscles tense painfully. The elf held the sword as if it weighed nothing and despite his wounds, his form was unwavering.

"Take him!"

A hooded figure streaked past the clearing, past the elf, past the guards until her dagger was buried deep into one the mage's throat. The stillness that fell on the glade was almost as heavy as the magic in the air. And in a moment, the silence was shattered.

"Andraste's arse!"

Whatever sight she had made, it had no effect on the elf. His sword fell upon two of the distracted slavers while they were still trying to comprehend what had just taken one of their mages. A few of them turned their attention onto her. The other mage was over his initial shock and sent a torrent of fire in her direction. She dashed out of the way and into the safety of the tree line, but the flames caught a few of the mage's fellow slavers. He disregarded his companions' screams and was about to turn his sights onto the elf when a shadow blindside him and slashed him across the face. He barely had time to yell as the sword pierced his heart.

With the threat of the mages resolved, her blades turned to the slavers before her. She could see the fear in their eyes that were partially hidden behind their iron masks. She could see it in the way their hands quaked as they gripped their weapons. All three charged at once. The first fell as she slashed his throat with her dagger. The other she blocked with her sword before pushing him off. The third got a lucky opening and nicked her shoulder before she kicked him so hard in the head she heard the bones in his neck crunch. As the last of her opponents stumbled away, the remaining slaver took one last look at the death at her feet before quickly turning to retreat.

The flash of blue was subtle, but there was no mistaking the surge of magic that radiated from him. She was so distracted by the lyrium in the air, she almost didn't notice how easily he plunged his arm into the man's chest and crushed his heart. The slaver gave a wet cough as blood drenched his chin and armor before the elf finally snatched his hand out from the man's chest. He slumped over onto the sordid ground alongside the rest of the fallen. When she shifted her gaze form the elf, she realized that the remains of more than half of the slavers littering the ground at his feet.

When the elf turned to her, she was unsure whether she had been too hasty in her desire to help. This was clearly no elf, city or Dalish, she had ever encountered. His skin was much darker. His hair had no color and then there were the markings. But what put her on edge wasn't his appearance, it was his eyes. Even in the pale moonlight she could make out the deep green, but they were staring at her the same way he had when the slavers appeared. After just seeing him fight, she prepared herself to flee the moment it called for it.

"Why did you interfere?"

His voice was calm and to the point. It was completely void of the obvious fatigue his body suffered. From this close, she could see the blood steadily flowing from a wound hidden under his tunic and the fresh gash that marred his temple.

"You were outnumbered," she stated plainly while eying his bloody hand and the other that was still gripped around his large sword.

His eyes scrutinized her and she tightened her grip on her weapon.

"Even so, why make it your concern?" he growled.

She felt her own ire flare. Words such as ungrateful and moronic flashed through her mind, but she held it in check. Did she not question herself as she was hiding in the trees? She was about to leave the elf to his own devices when the smell finally hit her. The lyrium and the slavers had districted her, but there was no denying that stench.

"You're wounded," she said.

His whole body tensed as he took a few steps forward. She mirrored him as she took the same amount of steps back. She still didn't know what kind of power lay in those markings. Nor did she know what would happen if he actually touched her with them. He seemed to understand her defensive stance and slowly backed away, but his eyes never strayed far from her hand holding the sword.

"While your aid was appreciated, my state of being is no concern of yours."

She made no reply. Without another word, the elf took one last look at her before heading towards the woods. She silently watched him go as she tried to ignore the limp he was trying to hide and the smell of the air as the sickly-sweet scent of decay followed him.

When he was gone, she too turned back to the woods. For several minutes, she tried to put the encounter out of her head. There was no telling what other surprises were held in store for her this night. She had only been in this forest for a short time and already she had come across slavers and a very strange elf. An elf that was clearly dangerous. An elf that was sure to have more slavers on his trail.

An elf that would be lucky to see the next sunrise.

She paused again. Already the silence had reclaimed its hold over the night, but now she no longer heard it as her thoughts were so thunderous. She afforded the blade-wielding elf a short glance, but he had already disappeared in the mist. He was moving well now, but for how much longer? She gave a dismissive sigh and continued on her path. This was the way things were. If that was his choice, then so be it. Better to die on his own than in the hands of slavers.

'But why must he die at all?_'_

Again she paused. Her thoughts were growing evermore chaotic as she recalled the way he fought. Even wounded and failing, there was no overlooking of the defiance in his words and in his stance. He would fight to the bitter end and in doing so, his death would be poor and lingering. Not a warrior's death but the death of wounded prey. Still, there was little she could do for him even if he did concede to her offer of help. She could bind a minor wound or break, but from what she had witnessed, he would need skilled hands if he wished to see the next few days.

Her reasoning dictated that she continue on, but she remained standing in the lingering mist. She knew why she hesitated now. There was always the same haunting doubt, the same fear that worked its way into her heart long ago, yet there was still another part of herself that remained, that still hoped. She turned and began to steadily make her way down the path she had just come from.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He was strong, that much she had to admit. He had been easy enough to find. Even a blind man could follow the trail of blood he left. She had been right when she had suspected he was hurt far more than he let on. When she was almost upon him, the panting and gasping was unmistakable. Even now, as she watched from the shadows of the trees, sweat covered his skin. For a third time, his foot caught an exposed root and he fell to his knees. His arms quaked with the strain of holding up his body, but he didn't get up this time. This time, his arms gave way and he collapsed onto the forest floor.

His heartbeat was fast but weak as she approached his form cautiously. The wound on his head was still bleeding freely while most of his hair on that side was stained with the bright red color. As soon as she knelt close to him, one of his eyes cracked open and gazed up at her.

"I knew you were still out there." Unlike before, his voice was hoarse and weak. "Have you come the finish me off?"

She eyed him carefully, "If I wanted to kill you, wouldn't I have done so back in the clearing?"

The elf gave a small chuckle, "I thought you would be waiting until my guard was down."

With that, his eyes closed and he became oblivious to the world around him. For a moment, she wondered if she had waited too long. But he was still breathing, albeit it was shallow and quick. She reached out and gently touched his arm. Even in oblivion, his body seemed to be trying to recoil from her touch as it tensed under her fingers. She tried to ignore it as she concentrated on his markings. One of her fingers slid over the silver-blue on his forearm and she had to stop herself from snatching her arm back. A small jolt, weak but sharp traveled up her hand and arm. She was distinctly reminded of a time a lightning bolt struck a tree and how the very air seemed to buzz with the force of it. She pulled her arm away.

The sky was still dark, but dawn was only a few hours away. Whoever was hunting him was more than likely to send more. She considered her options one final time before finally accepting her decision. She pulled his claymore from his back and nearly dropped it on his head.

"By the-! How did you swing this around so easily?"

Not to her surprise, he didn't answer. She pulled the sword away and then hid it among a nearby thicket until finally returning for the elf. As if to say that that the forest was still privy to her actions, a nighthawk began calling in the distance. But instead of relief, she hoped that it would soon stop singing. It was never a good omen to hear those birds at night.

She ignored the bird, and quickly returned to her task at hand. Despite his ability to swing the claymore, he was much lighter than she suspected. He grunted when she hosted him onto her small frame, but it was unavoidable. His head was resting on her shoulder and the sudden movement seemed to have roused him somewhat. He attempted to lift his head, but only manage to smear her cheek and hair with his blood before finally passing out again.

She had come across a small cave only a few days earlier that didn't show many signs of it being used recently. The only traces were some whitened bones of small animals that littered the back of the cave. What she favored most about it was that the entrance was set only a few feet off the ground and was obscured by a small waterfall. And while the moss and lichen that covered the rocks made the trek up to the cave tricky, it didn't leave tracks.

The hike to the cave had been mercifully short. Once she crossed the small river, her feet carefully padded over the rocks as she weaved her way up to the entrance. Several times she had to shift his weight so that she could grab a slippery rock. Once in the entrance, she sighed in relief. Her passenger replied with something akin to a growl as he stirred. She moved him further back into the dark cave where the rock was significantly dryer. She laid him down and rolled up her spare cloak to place under his head. When he remained still, she dashed out and quickly returned with a handful of kindling and larger pieces of wood. She soon had a small fire going that easily chased the dampness away.

In the bright orange glow, she noticed how pale his skin had become. She worked quickly as she removed his tunic. Underneath was a thick linen shirt where almost the entire bottom half was stained with blood. When she removed that, she froze. Slowly her eyes wandered over the elf's body as she followed the woven lines of lyrium that were etched into his skin. She looked upon it with a mixture of awe and wariness. The way the lines curved and accented his muscles and the contours of his body was in a way, almost elegant, yet she could not fathom why a person would willingly allow such a substance to be placed in their flesh. But then, if he was a target of slave hunters, then he may not have even had the choice. She tore her eyes away from his body as she pulled her rucksack to her and dug through it savagely until she found what she needed. She pushed her questions about the elf and his strange markings aside while dried plants littered the rock in front of her. She threw one with blue stems and flowers into the fire as the cave was flooded with the thick, earthy scent. Two other herbs she snatched up and began grinding into a fine powder. She added several drops of a red liquid from a small flask and the gray powder turned into an ugly brown paste.

After cleaning what she could from his head, she smeared the concoction over the wound. She removed his shirt and tossed it aside. She wasn't sure, but it looked like a mace or something else that had been jagged and sharp had caught him. Most of the wound was covered in dried blood, but in a few places she could see where the blackened skin and infection had started to set in. She filled two small bowls with water and set them close to the fire. Gingerly she used the wet cloth to try to peel away the dirt and grime that was matted with blood.

No sooner had the cloth touched his skin than an arm struck out like a coiled snake and grasped her wrist roughly. Even in his condition, his grip threatened to crack her bones.

"W-Who are you?"

He was barely awake. His eyes darted over her features in a feverish haze but he was fighting for clarity the entire time. She waited for the fever to take him again and for him to fall back down, but he refused to let go. She tried to pull away, but he only tightened his hold.

"Falon," she stated quickly. "I'm a friend."

He didn't seem to hear her, but slowly a smirk appeared on the side of his mouth, "I am not so fortunate."

And then he was unconscious. His hand fell away and she quickly finished cleaning the wound as best she could. Falon added more of the brown salve to his side and pressed a clean cloth against it. When she had done all she could, she sat back and watched him carefully. His breathing was still shallow and his fever didn't look as if it would break anytime soon.

"You need a healer," she said to herself. "One that has more to offer than just herbs."

Falon considered her options. She had not been in this forest long, but she did know of a clan of Dalish that was only a few miles away. She could easily make it on foot, but not by carrying the elf. But there was another reason she was hesitant to bring him to the Dalish. They were wary of humans and he may be an elf, but he wasn't one of them.

"Besides," she said to herself, "you didn't fare too well on the trip here. How can I bring you that far?"

The white haired elf stirred and then groaned in his sleep. Falon waited for his eyes to snap open and glare at her once more, but they remained closed. At that same moment, a small trickle of blood started to seep from beneath her makeshift bandage. Falon got up and fixed it as best as she could.

Falon sighed as the sky suddenly cracked overhead and lightning lit up their small stone dwelling. She turned to regard the torrent of rain at the mouth of the cave. The Dalish were her only option at this point. She took one last look at the slumbering elf and then dashed out into the rain.

Several times the storm turned her around and twice she had to find an alternative route across streams that she could have easily jumped over days before. By the time she reached the outskirts of the Dalish camp, she had taken twice the amount of time she had predicted. Before she stepped out from the safety of the tree line, Falon carefully scanned the area, but couldn't see any hunters on watch. As she made her way closer, it was then that she noticed the small fire beneath an outcropping of rocks and the two figures huddled next to it. She saw a large stick next to her foot and kicked it. It sailed through the rain and hit the rocks with a loud snap.

"Who goes there?" cried one of the hunters.

Falon took a few steps closer and held up her hands to show she held no weapon, "Over here."

The two elves, one male the other female, watched her cautiously as the glow of the fire fell onto her face.

The female seemed to relax somewhat, but the other hunter still did not drop his bow, "What are doing here, shem? You are trespassing on our camp."

Falon cringed at the slang term but quickly disregarded it, "I have an injured elf not more than three miles from here. His wounds are festering and he needs a healer."

The huntress came closer, "What happened?"

"Slavers attacked him, I think."

"Is he one of our own?"

Falon looked back at the hunter, "Is he Dalish? No, but-"

"Then he can't be helped here," he replied.

Falon had to hold her tongue in check before replying, "Surely you can do something. I have done all I can, but if he isn't taken care of soon, he is going to die."

The Dalish huntress approached her friend's side, "Halith, perhaps we can-"

The hunter glared at his companion, "We have enough problems without outsiders interfering. You know that, Erieden." He then turned his gaze back onto Falon, "Now leave before we set our arrows on you."

He notched an arrow and trained his sights on her. Biting back the taste of defeat, Falon slowly backed away and turned towards the trees.

"Shemlen!" Ereiden called out. "There is a city. About half a day's journey on foot down the mountain. You may be able to find the aid for your friend there."

Falon hesitantly nodded her thanks before retreating turning back to the shadows.

The rain was finally beginning to let up. It was once again a thick, gray mist that clung to the ground and her clothes as she skirted around the edge of the Dalish camp. Eventually she came across an open paddock where a herd of at least a dozen white deer were resting. Although they appeared dainty, the animals were capable of carrying heavy loads for long distances. She knew how important these animals were to the Dalish, and if any one of them found her in the paddocks, Falon didn't have any illusions that they wouldn't shoot her on sight. Carefully, she eased herself through the fence and approached a large stag. The animal's nose flared when it caught her scent and its head reared up in alarm. Falon tried to look as least opposing as possible all the while whispering soothing words to the halla.

"Easy now, easy." She crept closer, but the stag stamped his foot into the wet earth. "Come now, don't be like that."

The stag tossed his antlers angrily.

"Yes I know I don't have a right to be here. But I need your help."

A loud snort echoed through the paddock.

"Come now, I have merely honored the laws of the forest and still your kind have never had to fear my arrows."

The halla lowered his head and stomped his hooves once more.

"Again, yes, I understand, but this is a matter of life and death."

The expression of the stags face seemed to soften as it rose it head slightly.

"I'm not asking much, only one night. Help me get him to the city, that's all I ask."

The animal seemed to ponder her request as it stood silently in the misty field. He turned his head a few times as if to see if any of the other halla were privy to their conversation. When the halla turned back to her, Falon could see the slight irritation in the way the creature flicked its tail and ears. Finally, he huffed softly on her outstretched hand and then gracefully leaped over the small fence. It raced off into the woods as Falon heaved a sigh of relief and silently followed suit.

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Thank you to all that favored and commented on the story so far. It's all appreciated.


	3. An Unexpected Aquaintence

Sadly, everything Dragon Age is still owned by Bioware, the rest of the fantasy is the property of little ol' me.

* * *

Remember there's no such thing as a small act of kindness. Every act creates a ripple with no logical end.

~Scott Adams

If there was one thing he didn't like in his of work, it was intimidation. Sure, a few bodies showed up every now and then, but there was no reason that everyone couldn't be civil up until that point. At the moment however, he was dealing with a rather tall, rather wide, doorman that looked as if the extent of his vocabulary was only a few choice phrases and a series of growls and grunts. He crossed his arms as he sized up the glowering mountain blocking the doorway.

"Like I said, Tiny. I'm expected, so either step out of the way or go find some small little village to terrorize."

The troll of a man stepped out of the doorway and into the tiny alley. The human was doing his best to take advantage of their vast differences in size, but he didn't flinch. Instead, his hand flow over his shoulder and was closely followed by a cacophony of metal and wood clicking into place. Before the human could fully realize what he was staring at, Varric had his crossbow pointed directly at the thug's throat.

"Are we going to have a problem, Tiny or is Bianca here going to have to teach you some manners?" The human practically growled at him, but slowly stepped aside to let him pass. "Good idea for once."

Varric reshouldered Bianca, but never let one of his hands stray too far from her or his coin purse. The Briny Knife was in no way the Hanged Man. While the Hanged Man had character and a certain rustic charm to some of its blood stains, whenever Varric saw a pool of blood in this place he found himself wondering who the unfortunate bastard was. That was another reason he didn't much prefer this place. It was a popular hangout for, as well as owned by, the Carta. Suffice to say, it was not a place he frequented often.

The bartender, a scraggly old woman with thin gray hair and yellow teeth eyed him from over the counter. He gave no greeting and quickly scanned the smoky room. Unlike the Hanged Man where you could barely hear the person next to you over the drunken uproar, most of the patrons sat alone as they silently watched the room with their backs to the wall while a few huddled around small tables and spoke in hushed voices.

Varric took it all in with a wary eye and a bad taste in his mouth, "If I ever want a subtle knife in between my ribs, I'll know where to go now."

A quick movement from the back of the room caught his attention. A flash of white amidst the shadows was all it was. If he hadn't been looking for it, he would have completely missed it. Varric made no more hesitations as he strode across the room towards the small table in the back. The short little man sitting across from him flinched as he sat down and nervously played with his fingers as his good eye darted from the dwarf to the barroom, to the door, and then back. All the while, his left eye remained motionless as the pure white orb stared blindly at him.

Varric nodded a greeting, "How's it been, Blind-eye?"

The little man flinched again, but this time remained focused on the dwarf, "I-I've b-been better. Things have b-been a l-l-l-little uneasy around here e-ever s-s-since…"

"Yes, well how 'bout we move pass old business and focus on the task at hand, hmm? Can I get you a drink?"

"Varric, y-you've known m-me for l-l-long enough to k-know that I n-n-never t-touch the s-stuff. Nothing t-that d-dulls the s-s-senses is ever g-g-good."

"Right, more for me then."

Blind-eye's hands quickly dove into his shabby moleskin coat and dug through the many pockets Varric was sure was hidden in there. Blind-eye Borgus was not only one of his oldest "acquaintances", but he was undoubtedly one of his more reliable ones, despite his rather unique…disposition. Despite the man's unusual eye, his features were not utterly bad to look at. Varric was unsure of his age, but he definitely had a significant amount of years over the dwarf, but the years spent livening in Darktown and stress had made the wizened human appear almost archaic. Unlike the man's dead eye that never seemed to move, it seemed impossible for Blind-eye to remain still. His stubby fingers would consistently pull at his stringy, white shoulder length hair or when he was standing, his would constantly shift from foot to foot. Varric never really knew what it was that made the man so nervous. It was always healthy to have a bit of paranoia in his line of work, but too much just seemed to take all the fun out of life.

"H-Here it is."

Blind-eye produced a small rolled up piece of parchment and set it gingerly in front of Varric. The dwarf carefully unrolled it and frowned at the small, scratchy writing littering the page. Several paragraphs were devoted to describing various country sides, imports and exports of the different ports along the Ferelden coastline, as well as the net worth value of different pieces of land scattered along the west side of the Frostbacks.

"This isn't what we agreed upon, Blind-eye. What is this?" Varric whispered.

The man held up his hands and shied away as if Varric had just roared at him, "I-I know. I-It is a p-p-progress report. Times, d-dates, estimates-"

"What good is that to me?"

"I'm s-s-sorry, V-Varric. I th-thought it better to come w-with something rather than n-nothing."

"Are you saying that after all this time, you weren't able to find anything?"

"This i-is all I have f-for you."

Varric crumpled the parchment in his grip. Seven years. Seven years of blood, sweat, and tears and what did he have to show for it? A measly bill. He could picture his brother now just laughing away. Without a word, Varric made to rise from the table, but not before a spidery hand shot out and closed over his hand holding the parchment.

"I w-wouldn't lose track of that in c-case you m-might have m-m-missed something."

Varric rubbed his bristled chin slowly as he loosened his grip on the fragile piece of paper, "Estimates, you say?"

Blind-eye nodded, "Everything s-should be right, b-but you s-should check over them all t-t-the same. In m-my opinion, it's better t-t-to look over s-something like that with a g-good bottle of aged wine and d-d-decent light. Helps one f-f-focus."

Varric pulled his hand away and carefully stored the crumpled piece of writing in his coat. He nodded towards Blind-eye before quickly leaving the tavern and heading back to Lowtown.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He didn't know what was more annoying, the fact that he barmaid wasn't really giving him a challenge or just the utter boredom that seemed to suck the life out of the grimy tavern. Varric drained his drink and then called the barmaid over for another.

Things had really changed in Kirkwall. Some, for the much needed better, others, not so much. Sure there was still opportunity in the city, but between the new Guard Captain's increase in the efficiency of the city watch and word of the Champion's involvement in the whole Chantry crisis, only the most desperate of dealers, or the ones with the deepest pockets, made a profit in Kirkwall nowadays.

Varric sighed as he leaned back in his chair. It was a slow night for the Hanged Man. Some of the patrons were involved in their own conversations, but the rest seemed to be there for the same reason he was. A set of diamondback playing cards remained uncut on the table. Varric would be the first to tell the tale of the Champion's rise to fame in Kirkwall. Void, he had been there practically every step of the way. He prided himself on his skill of storytelling as well as the truth, or at least partial truth, behind the tale. However, in the countless times he had told the tale, he could never muster the courage to tell what Hawked had done in this very tavern. In the end, he would just usually skip over that part.

"Here you go, Varric."

The dwarf looked up from the deck of cards to the petite young woman standing over him. If he remembered it right, her name was Arlena, or Arsena, or something like that. She was short, something he liked in his woman, but her small frame had curves in all the right places and her legs seemed to go on forever.

She batted her large brown eyes at him, "How are you doing tonight?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose."

She leaned in closer and Varric could see the glint in her eye. Only a short while ago, he would be calling himself a fool to pass up something that was so blatantly offered.

"Are you expecting someone?" she asked as she sensed the sudden change.

Varric flashed her a smile as he picked up his drink, "My dear, my expectations died out a while ago. All I expect now is a good drink."

Her smile faltered somewhat and she quickly darted away to another patron. Varric didn't blame her. She probably would have shown him a good night, but he wasn't in the mood. Without finishing his drink, he threw several coppers on the table, grabbed Bianca, and headed out the door.

When he had returned from the Briny Knife, his first action had been to decode whatever it was that Blind-eye had hidden in the parchment. But after three hours later, two bottles of wine, and a massive headache, he had produced nothing. Frustrated with himself, he went down to the bar to lift his spirits. Instead, it had the opposite effect.

Strangely enough, despite a few muggers, the filth, and the smell of the docks, walking through Lowtown at night seemed to put his nerves at ease. He passed the Alienage and slowly made his way down to the docks. He knew better than to look for Blind-eye at the tavern, but from there, he could cut through some of the alleys until he reached the gate that was placed on the eastern side of the city.

It was small, maybe only big enough to let a trader with his wagons through. Beyond that, the road cut through the woods until eventually leading to the Wounded Coast. Guards were rarely posted here unless it was in the middle of the trading season. Besides that, it was relatively quiet and he found himself coming here more and more. The earlier storm had really hit hard. He could see the branches littering the ground and the smell of the flooded sewers was already becoming noticeable. Varric leaned against the wet stone and wondered, not for the first time, if he should just leave right now.

Sure, the city had its perks. He even made a good bit of coin over the years, but nowadays, business was becoming slow and hard to come by. Besides, he had also lost a good bit of something more. First his brother, then Anders with the whole Chantry fiasco, and then there was the incident with the elf…

"Ah damnmit, don't you start bringing that up again," he said to himself.

Perhaps he had outgrown the place or perhaps he had just had enough of the people. Whatever the reason, he wasn't satisfied anymore. Maybe he should have followed Isabela's example and high tailed it out of Kirkwall. At least then, he wouldn't have had to deal with Cassandra and her Seekers. He hadn't seen any trace of them since their last little get together, but he wouldn't assume it to be the last he'd see of them. The sooner Blind-eye came through for him the better.

Varric noticed the light gray tinge in the eastern sky and started to turn to leave. But at that moment, something else caught his attention: a flash of silver, a mere speck, out in the trees. He looked again, but nothing moved.

"Easy there, Varric," he laughed as he rubbed his tired eyes. "If you start seeing things, then that's a sign that you need to slow down on Croff's special brew."

Chuckling to himself, he was about to leave when a distinct snap reached him. This time, when Varric turned, he had to take a second look. In truth, it seemed like something that had come out of one of his stories. A figure, shrouded in mist, stepped out of the woods, but what was truly remarkable, was what it was leading. It appeared to be a halla. There was no mistaking the twisted antlers or the pure white coat. He wasn't sure, but it looked like the stag was carrying something. As they slowly approached, and the dirt turned to solid cobblestone, the sharp rap of the halla's hooves seemed to cut through the muggy air. The animal tensed as the shadows of the city walls towered over them. A few times it shook its head, but continued on when the person beside it placed a reassuring hand on its neck.

"Well, you certainly don't see this every day," Varric mused.

The hooded figure stopped short and quickly looked his way. The dwarf wasn't surprised that it was a woman beneath the hood but the fact that it was a _human_ woman. She had very fair skin that almost seemed translucent in the pale moonlight. Her hair was the deepest shade of black that there almost looked as if hints of blue were among the strands. It draped past her shoulders and disappeared beneath her hood. But her eyes were what he found intriguing. The one on her right was a deep shade of green, the other was a brown so light it almost looked golden. Large and bright, those mismatched eyes seemed to take in everything that stirred in the shadows around them. Varric thought that she would be quite pretty and somewhat exotic if she wasn't covered in mud from head to foot and various leaves and twigs weren't tangled in her hair.

She wore a coat that reminded him somewhat of his own. It was worn, brown, and stopped around the middle of her calves while it was split on the sides and at the back to allow movement. There were very little adornments on it besides the metal buckles that strapped it closed on her chest. Her belt was cinched over it and was comprised of a multitude of small pouches and had a long, thin sword that hung at her side. He examined her other side more closely, and quickly noticed the curved dagger she had strapped to her hip as well. Her boots were simple and well used but looked sturdy. On her arms, she wore a pair of leather bracers. They were the only things she wore, besides her sword, that seemed to have any type of detail to it. They were black with thin swirls of heavily tarnished silver etched into them. They covered her forearm all the way to her elbow and only left her fingers exposed. Peaking from behind her shoulder, he could see a small quiver of arrows and a bow.

"So what brings you to our fair city of Kirkwall, dear lady?"

She made no reply at first, but her eyes never wavered from his form as she peered from beneath her hood.

"Do you know where I can find a healer?" she finally said.

"A healer? Well, if you have the coin-"

"I don't."

"Then your options are significantly limited, but you're still not completely at a loss," he replied. "I happen to know a mage who may be able to help you."

"Can you bring them here?"

Varric couldn't help but have his interest pique, "I can show you to her."

"No."

This was interesting.

"Her residence isn't in the most reputable of places," Varric added.

"Less reputable than meeting a strange dwarf in a back alley in the middle of the night?"

Varric stared at the woman for a minute before bursting out laughing, "No, no I suppose not." She did not join in on his humor, but to her credit she seemed to become slightly less tense. "I'm Varric Tethras, at your service. I'm a merchant, of sorts, here at Kirkwall, not a cutthroat. So you can put your fears to rest."

"Aren't they the same thing here?" she replied dryly.

Varric chuckled again, "My dear lady, while entertaining as this is, do you need a healer or not?"

She gestured to the halla and it was then that Varric was able to recognize that it was a person slumped over the animal's back and neck. A hood and cloak obscured him from view, but he could still see that his breathing was slow and labored. Without a word, Varric approached the prone figure. But just as he got close enough, the halla shied away. The woman steadied the animal, but he noticed that her hand was resting on her rather wicked looking dagger.

"Easy now," he said. "I just want to know what we're dealing with." He waited until she took her hand away from her belt before reaching for the cloak. "By the Paragons…Fenris?"

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Falon didn't try to sort out the details about luck. Some days went better than others, but in truth, if she had to say, she would say her luck was usually poor. That's why she liked to rely on her own skills. So when the dwarf actually recognized the elf, she assumed the worst.

"By the Paragons, where did you find him?"

"In the woods," she stated as her hand subtlety wrapped around her dagger again.

The dwarf turned on her, clearly annoyed, "In the woods. Just as simple as that? What, was he reconnecting with his Dalish ancestry? Come on, you've got to do better than that."

"Are you going to help him or not?"

Varric eyed her critically before nodding his head, "We'll take him back to my place."

"What about the healer?"

"The healer I had in mind is definitely not an option now. If Fenris knew we let a mage work her magic on him, the elf would have our heads. Beisdes," he murmured under his breath, "the less we parade him around the town, the less likely we'll attract attention."

Varric tried to get the halla to move forward, but the animal stubbornly refused.

"He isn't going any further," she said. Falon reached up and began to pull the elf down. "Help me with him."

Varric took a side and supported the white-haired elf under one arm as Falon flanked him on the other side. As soon as the elf was off the halla's back, the white deer turned and sped off back to the safety of the dark trees.

"Doesn't like the city much, I take it?"

"No."

Against her better judgment, she let the dwarf lead them through the city until finally arriving at a tavern. Above the door hung an over-sized mannequin of a faceless man bound and dangling from his feet. Varric must have seen the look on her face because he began chuckling as they maneuvered through the doorway.

"Welcome to the Hanged Man. My home sweet home."

Falon tried not to show anymore of her discomfort.

Despite the sight they must have made, few of the patrons gave them a second look. She assumed they were too drunk to care or this might just be the norm around here. She hoped it was the later. Varric led them up a small flight of moldy stairs and turned down a dusty hallway. When he finally stopped and opened one of the doors, she was surprised by the set of apartments he ushered them into. Compared to the rest of the establishment, the rooms were a significant improvement. There was a fireplace that was giving off a good bit of warmth. The bed and walls were adorned with different types of tapestries of different shades of browns and reds. The rooms had a distinct smell of leather and varnish, which was a compromise to the smell of old ale and piss downstairs.

"Here," Varric grunted, "lay him down on the bed."

He groaned when they set him down and became restless. Several moments passed before he finally seemed to calm down. It was then that she noticed Varric staring at something on her side. When she looked down, there was a large dark stain on her coat which was almost identical to the one spreading on the elf's middle. Varric went over and began peeling bandages away.

"Ah, shit. This isn't good," he murmured to himself.

The smell was still distinct and even more so now that they were in a confined space.

"Will you rethink about getting a healer now?"

For a moment the dwarf didn't answer. Instead he went over to the shelf, grabbed a brown bottle, took a draft from it, and then poured some of it over the elf's wound. Even in his state, the elf flinched from the burning liquid but still remained unconscious.

"Yeah, he's definitely going to need more than this." Varric reached around towards his back and began stroking the wood of his crossbow as he stood contemplating their next move. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. Go down to the Alienage. Ask for an elf named Merrill and bring her back here."

"What?"

"Merrill's not the greatest when it comes to healing," the dwarf explained, "but she's the best we got under the circumstances."

"No, I mean why are you telling me this? I've never been in your city before. What makes you think I know my way around much less who this Merrill is?"

Varric pinched the bridge of his crooked nose before finally turning back to her, "Look, I can't send one of my boys because, frankly, I don't want word of our white-haired friend here getting out. And secondly, I won't go myself, because, well, it wouldn't be too good if the maid startled you and you run her through with that knife of yours." Falon glared at him. "Don't take it personally," he added.

She took a moment to consider his request, but the smell of the infection in the room quickly made the decision for her.

"Alright," she said. "At least point me in the right direction."

"Just retrace your steps getting here, only when you get close to the docks, head the opposite direction. When the smell and filth start getting worse, you know you're going the right way," he added. "Once you find yourself in a square with a giant tree in the middle, you've found the Alienage. Merrill's house is the last on the left. You got all that?"

Falon gave a less than reassuring nod before turning and striding out the door.

The sun was just beginning to rise and the dusty streets were starting to come alive with merchants setting up their stands. Out of habit, Falon pulled her damp hood over her head. It was easy enough to retrace their steps, but as more people appeared on the streets, she couldn't help but get distracted by the constant noise. When she started to hear the calls of seabirds, she turned her back on it and walked in the opposite direction. So far, she hadn't seen one elf and all the buildings were beginning to look the same.

"This is a waste of time," she said to herself.

Falon was about to give up and return to the tavern to tell the dwarf to find the healer himself when she turned the corner and nearly tripped over something splayed out on the ground.

"Hey, watch it!"

It actually took her a minute to regain her bearings before she realized that it was an elf. His clothing was so dirty, it was impossible to tell what color they had been. He was covered from head to foot in dirt and he smelled as if he had been rolling around in the gutter. He was glaring up at her with bloodshot eyes and belched before bringing a bottle up to his lips.

"What's a pretty thing like yourself doing down here," he slurred.

Her glare did little to effect the drunken elf, yet he was the only one she had found so far.

"I'm looking for the Alienage," she stated.

The elf scoffed and gestured around himself, "You're in it, serrah."

Falon glanced around at the buildings that looked almost identical to the ones around the Hanged Man.

"I'm looking for an elf named Merrill. Do you know where I can find her?"

A crooked smile suddenly spread across the elf's lips, "Depends. How much would you be willing to pay for that kind of information?"

"I don't have any coin."

"Then bugger off! It's not like we need more humans poking around our Alienage than there already- Hey!"

Falon snatched the bottle from him and shattered it against the nearby wall. The neck still remain intact as she held it by her side and tapped the jagged edge of the glass against her mud covered leg.

"I have just spent the entire night running through the countryside in the rain, cold, and mud," she growled. The elf's eyes constantly darted from the sharp piece of glass in her hand to her stern eyes. "I now find myself in a city whose very stench I can feel sinking into my skin. Trust me when I say I don't wish to be here anymore than you do, but I'm not going to waste one more minute wandering these streets while someone lies dying." She towered over the elf as her eyes pierced his trembling form. "Where is she?"

The elf pointed down the alley with a quivering finger, "S-She helps out with the care of the elders and the children sometimes. She s-should be up by now."

Falon threw the broken bottle down, "Tell the bartender at the Hanged Man to give you another bottle and put it on Varric Tethras's tab.

The elf barely nodded his understanding before scurrying away from her. Falon watched him disappear around the corner before heading down the alley. She was expecting many things, but the elvhen Alienage's tree was not one of them. Falon had only seen trees like this in some of the most ancient of forests. Its trunk was solid and at least five shoulder widths wide. Its boughs seemed to be competing with the buildings for light, just as any other tree in the woods would, but despite the lifeless stone surrounding it, this tree was still strong, still full of life.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Falon jumped and had to stop herself from pulling out her blade on the elf. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Falon stared at her a moment before finally finding her voice, "No, it's alright."

She had heard of elvhen Alienages before and knew that the elves were considered so different, that the Dalish didn't even consider them true elves. Yet, the elf before her was Dalish. There was no mistaking the _vallaslin_.

"We don't get many human visitors," she said. "Are you lost? Oh, well, that was a bit rude of me. You could just be visiting a friend, and…here I am just babbling away. Sorry about that."

Falon eyed her carefully. She was small and perhaps only an inch or two smaller than herself. Like most elves, she had the same willowy figure, but she seemed to be a wisp of a creature, even for an elf. Falon also couldn't help but notice how much the elf could say in such a short amount of time, yet despite her general awkwardness, she seemed to have a kind disposition.

"I'm looking for a healer named Merrill. I was told I could find her here."

"Oh really? Who told you that?"

"A dwarf named Varric Tethras. Are you Merrill?"

"Yes, I am, but I'm not much of a healer. You might want to seek out a mage-"

"I can't. Apparently the patient in question isn't keen on mages, but Varric said he may make an exception for you."

"Really, who's hurt?"

"I don't know his name, but I think Varric called him Fenris once.

The small elf's eyes seemed to grow two times their size.

"Fenris?"

"You know him?"

"Ah, well, yes I do. I-I thought, it's just that the last I saw of him, well-"

"He's badly wounded. His wounds are festering and he is literally rotting from the inside out. Do you think you can help him?"

"My skills are not that of a true healer, but I do know some. Just let me get some things."

Merrill didn't take long and when she returned, she had a small bag slung around her shoulders and was carrying an ancient looking staff. Without waiting for her to lead the way, Merrill surged ahead as Falon fell in behind her for which she was grateful. Falon doubted she knew the streets any better than the elf did.

They arrived at the Hanged Man in half the time it had taken the woman to find the Alienage. Without a word, Merrill ascended the steps and walked through the doors that led to Varric's apartments.

"Took you damn long enough," Varric murmured from his seat in front of the fire.

"What did you expect?" Falon snapped.

"You're a ranger, aren't you? Isn't it your job to be able to track things down?"

Falon glared at the dwarf as Merrill rushed over to Fenris.

"Then it may come as a surprise to you, _master_ dwarf," she growled, "that a city and the forest are two very different things. Besides, whoever said I was a ranger?"

"Please," the dwarf muttered as he watched Merrill begin her work. "Who else besides a Dalish elf could lead a halla like that and hunt in the same territory as them," he whispered.

Merrill opened a jar and the smell of elfroot and pine flooded the room.

"You didn't tell me she was Dalish," Falon said quietly.

"Hm, I didn't really think about it. Why, do you have something against them?"

Falon slowly shook her head, "It might have narrowed down the search."

"Good point," he stated.

"Could you two help me?" Merrill called.

Varric immediately joined the elf's side and awaited instruction. Falon followed a few steps behind and carefully watched the elf's hands.

"What do you need?" Varric asked.

Merrill sighed, "You remember Fenris's markings, yes?" Falon recalled the way they glowed right before he plunged his fist into the slaver's chest but remained silent instead. "Fenris does not do well with magic," Merrill explained to her. "I've seen magic used on him when he was conscious, but I don't know what to expect if I try it on him now."

"Are you worried his markings will react?" Falon asked.

Merrill nodded, "I just need someone to hold him down in case…well, just in case."

Varric positioned himself at the elf's feet and braced himself against his ankles. Reluctantly, Falon moved over to his shoulders and placed a firm hand against his shoulder and on his chest.

"Here goes," Merrill breathed.

Falon felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as Merrill's hands began to glow with a soft blue color. Slowly the color began to churn and gather until it crept away from her hands and down into the wound. Merrill began a slow, easy motion that looked as if she were pulling and releasing the magic, and as she did so, more and more of the spell seeped into the wound. As Merrill continued, Falon felt the skin beneath her hands begin to warm. When she looked down, the soft glow of the lyrium markings was unavoidable. Varric caught her eyes when he noticed it too.

"Daisy, you might want to hurry up," he said.

Falon wasn't sure if the elf heard him or not, but the mage continued her steady pace as her eyes never lost their focus. The wound didn't look any smaller, but the decaying flesh and blistering redness of the infection was almost completely gone.

Suddenly, a glowing arm shot out form the other side of where Merrill had been working on. The mage was pushed back with a yelp and just nearly had her throat crushed by Fenris's hand. Falon had seen it only half a second before Varric shouted a warning and had been able to catch him before he struck the mage. As a result, the warrior tackled her with an astounding display of strength. Beneath her bracers, she could feel the burn of his strange lyrium markings. He rolled off the bed and pinned her to the floor. Suddenly, she lost her grip on his wrist and his long fingers were wrapped around her neck. Falon gasped as she fought for air. His eyes were still clouded over and oblivious to the world around him. His fever addled mind still wasn't all there as he was driven by pure instinct and survival now. But that only made Falon struggle harder.

Merrill suddenly appeared and smothered a foul smelling cloth over Fenris's mouth and nose. Instantly, Falon was released as the elf feebly tried to claw the thing away from his face. His movements became slower and weaker until eventually he went limp and collapsed on top of the ranger. Falon didn't dare move a muscle, and despite the screaming demand from her lungs, she refused to even breathe hard. Merrill was standing over them with the cloth still clutched in her hand while Varric stood next to her with an expression akin to amusement. Falon could guess why. In only a few short seconds, the crazy elf had almost attack Merrill, turned on her, and attempted to strangle her. Now the white-haired elf was lying on top of her, his head resting on her chest and looking deceivingly harmless.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to get him off me?" she rasped.

Varric chuckled, "Aww, but he looks so peaceful."

"So help me, dwarf," she snapped, "if you don't get your psychotic friend off me…"

Varric came over and gently hoisted Fenris up as Falon pushed the elf back onto the bed. Fenris groaned in his sleep and she had to bite her tongue to keep from cursing at him.

"Oh dear," Merrill gasped. Falon glanced down at an additional bloody smear on her coat and then at the one on Fenris's side. "He's lost a lot of blood."

Falon couldn't help but scoff, "I don't think something as insignificant as a little blood loss is going to keep him down."

"Never the less," Merrill said, "we should still be cautious."

The mage started mixing up several concoctions and, completely oblivious to the elf's earlier attack, gently tipped each one down Fenris's throat. Falon observed the whole process carefully, only this time by the safety of a chair at the table in front of the fire. Even the dwarf seemed to sense that most of the danger had passed but still remained wary.

On the corner of the table, there was an opened, black bottle that hadn't been there before. Curious, Falon picked it up to examine it.

"I'd be careful with that, if I were you."

The bottle wasn't even close to her face when she caught a whiff of it. Falon chocked back the bile that had risen in her throat and shoved the bottle away as she tried to shake the feeling of lightheadedness away.

"What is that!"

Varric chuckled as he corked the bottle and placed it in his coat.

"Just something I keep around in case of emergencies."

"Do you get emergencies like this often?" she coughed.

"More so than you would think," the dwarf mused. "So, how much do you want?"

"Want what?"

"For keeping quiet about all of this," Varric said.

"What exactly do I need to keep quiet about?"

Varric took another sip of his drink and put it back down on the table, "C'mon, it's too early to beat around the bush. How much do you want?"

Falon closed her eyes and messaged the space between her eyes. So far, she was really regretting coming to this city.

"Do I really look like someone who's trying to make coin by selling bits of information?"

Varric eyed her suspiciously, "You…don't know who he is?" She shook her head as she continued to watch the mage cater to the elf. "Then why help him?"

Falon shrugged her shoulders, "He needed a healer and the Dalish were a little less than helpful. But it was one of their hunters that told me about the city and suggested I come here."

Varric had abandoned his drink and shifted his full attention from the mage to the mud and blood covered ranger.

"So, let me get this straight. You have no idea of who he is. You've never heard of Kirkwall or been here before, yet you risked your hide, either knowingly or unknowingly, to get him here. For what, out of the kindness of your heart?"

Falon shrugged again.

"Something like that," she said as she picked up his drink and took a sip.

The drink tasted awful and was made even bitter while she listened to the dwarfs persistent guffawing. The drink burned her throat on the way down and she knew she would have bruising on her throat the next day thanks to the dwarf's less than cheery friend. Placing the half empty cup down, she got up and turned to leave.

"Hold up," Varric called. "I'm only giving you a hard time. Sit back down."

Falon knew it would be better if she just left. Her part was done. She had gotten the elf to safety and he was now in semi-capable hands. It was still morning, if she hurried she could make it back to the cave before the next storm rolled in. But for some reason, her feet didn't cross the threshold. Perhaps it was empathy or she just wanted to see the outcome of her labors. Or perhaps she was just curious. Whatever the reason, Falon found herself slowly turning back and taking a seat at the dwarf's behest.

"I know it might not come across that way, but I _am_ grateful for what you did. Stop me at anytime, but knowing Fenris, you didn't just find him in the woods. More than likely, you found him along with a few dozen corpses of Tevinter slavers lying on the ground.

Falon gently tapped her finger on the wood of the table. It was still rough in some places and she could feel a splinter trying to work itself into her flesh.

"It was more like twelve with a couple of mages, and they were still alive when I arrived."

"So you helped him, just like that?"

"I don't care for slavers," she stated.

Varric nodded, "Fair enough."

Just then, Merrill joined them. Her eyelids were droopy and her eyes were slightly pink while she walked around with her shoulders slumped.

"I've done all I can for him," she said. Merrill placed a small bottle of thick yellow liquid on the table along with a small cup. "You have to give him this every other hour. As well as change his bandages."

"Whoa, do I look like a chantry nurse to you?"

"He's stable for the moment and he is staying in _your_ house, Varric. I can't stay here because I have other priorities as well. Besides, I don't really like being here. I just can't seem to get used to the smell."

"Fine," the dwarf huffed, "but this doesn't really look like it will last long."

"Yes, I know." Merrill then addressed the ranger for the first time since arriving at the tavern. "I know Varric already said this, but thank you for your help. Fenris isn't the…easiest person to be around, but even he didn't deserve that kind of fate. But would it be possible for you to help us just a little more? I can make more medicine, but I've run out of the herbs I need. And, well…it just wouldn't be safe for me to go out alone. Would you be willing to go with me?"

"You can't go out into the woods by yourself?" Falon asked.

"Well, I could, but it just wouldn't be wise."

Slightly perplexed by the elf's words, Falon turned to the dwarf but he did little to shed light on the subject. Instead, to Falon's own surprise, the ranger simply nodded.

"So," Varric asked, "what do you call yourself, friend?"

She glanced over at the elf still passed out on the bed before returning back to the dwarf.

"Falon," she stated.

The mage laughed a little, "That's a funny, in Dalish that means 'friend.' Not that I think your name's funny. It's just strange that you have it and you're a shemlen." Falon gave her a peculiar look. "Of course, it shouldn't matter what you're called if you're a human or an elf. And, well…"

"She does that when she's nervous," the dwarf explained to the ranger in hushed tones. "Oh, and try not to let her out of your sights, "Friend." Merrill here's one of my closer acquaintances in this city. Let's not have anything happen to her while you two go frolicking in the woods otherwise, I might have to introduce you to some of my other friends."

Falon eyed the dwarf critically before slowly nodding her head and taking another sip of her drink.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

She hated ships. It was a different ship, different circumstances, but the reasons were the same none the less. And despite how much she loathed the thought of being hunted down like some animal, she swallowed her pride and ran. But it wasn't the motion of the ship or the cramped, stuffy cabin. There were also the memories that came with them. Her last voyage had been with her family, and while it hadn't been the fondest of memories, it was the only one that continuously seemed to come to her. Carver had been sick for nearly the entire trip while Mother was to grief stricken over the loss of Bethany to really take notice of their surroundings. But she had gotten them out, and at the time, she had taken solace in that.

And as much as she hated to admit it, they were fleeing again. Seven years of trying to restore honor to her family name and protect what was left of them, and what did she have to show for it? A devastated chantry, hundreds of innocents dead, and blood on her hands.

A groan from the bunk next to her pulled her from her musings. Anders had been restless ever since they boarded the ship despite their frantic escape from the city and across the countryside. He seemed to sleep through most of the day, but it was shallow and he would constantly speak under his breath. Hawke rose from her bunk and replaced the warm cloth on his head with a cool, damp one. The mage seemed to instantly relax under her touch, so she carefully crawled into the small bunk to lie down beside him.

"Ugh…Marian?"

"I'm here," she said.

Anders slowly blinked as he tried to peer through the darkness, "Where are we?"

"We're still on the ship."

"The ship?"

"Yes, the one we took in Ostwick. You do remember, don't you?"

Anders' blank stare was his only reply. Hawke let out a weary sigh and stroked his hair.

"Just go back to sleep. You'll be fine when you've gotten enough rest."

Her words seemed to calm him. Obediently, he laid his head back down but not before pulling her close to him and burying his face in her short black hair. The gesture almost made her smile if it was not for the briefest flash of blue that she saw in his eyes.

"Hawke?"

"Yes."

"Thank you for…"

Marian closed her eyes as she let the warmth from Anders chase away the cold that seemed to have taken root in her very bones. Even if Anders wasn't all there, it was nice to be held, to not feel alone for at least a moment. So much had happened ever since she and her family had stepped foot into that damn city. And if losing her family wasn't enough, she watched as one by one, her companions did the same. First was Isabela with her book, Void take her. Then Sebastian after she refused to kill Anders. Even now it was still hard to believe that the pious archer was capable of such venomous words. Even Fenris…

She stopped her thoughts right there. She couldn't afford to go back there again. Not now, not when all of her effort needed to be on their next step, their next lead. Everything had to flow smoothly at this point and an integral part of that was getting Anders to their destination without any further mishaps. Yet still the hollowness in her chest pained her and the bitterness of her situation now only seemed to mock because she knew all along that this is what it would come to.

So when they finally did run, it came as no surprise that the others went their separate ways. She heard rumors that Aveline and Donnic were making their way back to Ferelden. She had no idea what had happened to Merrill and Varric. They had been left behind when she and the others stormed the Gallows and during the last moments, there was too much chaos to know what was going on, much less regroup.

Anders groaned again as the ship pitched. Hawke sent a small wave of healing magic into his head and he was once more still.

Anders…

Such a damn fool but at least a loyal fool.

Despite the ever growing presence of Justice, he kept pace with her during their mad dash across the countryside. The entire journey, she wasn't sure if it was Anders or Justice that was blindly following her now. He was mute most of the time, and barely slept. There were nights when she would wake up to see him standing on the edge of their camp and staring off into the western horizon towards Kirkwall. When they had finally reached Ostwick, she wasn't too worried that either of them would be recognized. They had both lost a significant amount of weight, their clothing was far from pristine, and they carried themselves like the travel-worn refugees that they were. The price for the ship had not been cheap, but she paid it, despite the merchant's various warnings and suggestions of other ports.

Perhaps Anders would be right. Perhaps they would welcome him as a hero in their own deluded, conceited reasoning. But the mage had not revealed to him her ulterior motive for seeking sanctuary in the Imperium, and she was sure it would not please him to hear it. Like before, she had cast her dice and would wait to see what it was fate or chance had in store for them this time. For now, it was enough to just rest.

* * *

Hoped you enjoyed it!


	4. The Forest's Companion

All rights are reserved to Bioware, yet all the plot twists and devices I claim as my own.

* * *

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

~Marianne Williamson

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

She loved the scent of the woods after a rain. Everything smelled so clean and so fresh. The mist that covered the forest floor seemed to embrace her like an old friend. The leaves of the water sodden oaks dripped on them, but it felt so refreshing compared to the stale water of the city wells, that she didn't care. She had nearly forgotten it all in her long stay in the Alienage. It may have been where she needed to be, but this would always be where her heart was at.

"Where do we start?"

Merrill turned back to the human. She had nearly forgotten she was there. Before they left the tavern, Merrill had asked if Falon had wanted to rest. She refused, stating that another storm would be on them soon and if she wanted to gather herbs and roots, then they should get to it as soon as possible.

Merrill softly padded over the wet leaves while Falon followed as silently as Merrill's own shadow. Eventually they came upon the root she had been looking for. Without a word, Merrill began digging up the plant and taking small samples. Falon watched her work like a hawk until turning away and repeating the process on another root.

"So, I've never met a ranger before," Merrill said as she placed the root in a small bag.

"That's just something Varric calls me," she replied.

"Then you're not one?"

Falon paused in her work as she considered Merrill's words, "I guess Varric is right, I've just never considered myself one."

"So what makes one a ranger?"

Falon shrugged, "I guess it is someone that is just…at ease with the forest."

"Like the Dalish?" Merrill suggested.

"Sure, I guess you can say that."

"So, do you have a clan or a family?" the elf asked.

"No, I wander alone most of the time."

"Really? I couldn't possibly imagine living by yourself for so long. Even in the Alienage, Varric will at least come and visit me once in a while."

Merrill picked up the rest of her materials and brushed the mud from her knees. Falon handed her several roots that she added to the pile before Merrill started looking for more herbs.

"What about you Merrill, why do you live in the Alienage? Did you have a child with a human or an elf outside your clan?"

"P-Pardon me?"

Falon quickly looked away, "I'm sorry, that was wrong of me to say like that."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Honestly I think humans aren't frank enough, you just caught me by surprise. But no, I don't have a child."

"Then why aren't you with your clan?"

Merrill toyed with the halla horn buckles on her vestments as she stared at the mud between her toes.

"It's…It's complicated," she finally said. "Let's just say I shouldn't be in this forest any longer than I have to be."

Thankfully, the human nodded and left it at that. For the next hours they worked in comfortable silence as they slowly made their way up the mountain collecting plants. Every few minutes Falon would lift her head and stare off into the trees as if listening to something. Unlike the times she had gone out with Hawke and Carver, whose movements through the brush alerted everything around them, this human moved through the woods with such ease that the water droplets on the grass weren't even disturbed. Even Sebastian never moved quite so subtly. Merrill smiled to herself. It was almost as if she were with one the hunters or even Tamlen again.

"I think that should be enough," Merrill said as Falon placed another sprig of Eflroot in her bag. Thunder rumbled overhead as the clouds began to block out the sun. "We should hurry back."

The ranger nodded and fell in behind her when the loud snap of a tree branch caught their attention. In less than a heartbeat, Merrill pulled out her staff while Falon had her bow out with an arrow at the ready. Falon glanced her way and when she met her eyes, Merrill gave a curt nod and the ranger crept forward. Carefully they wove through the trees. Merrill was thankful for the wet earth on the ground, because as they neared the source of the noise, the sound of boots sloshing in the thick mud became louder.

"This is ridiculous! We're still out here on this mountain and another storm is coming."

"Quiet. I don't care if it's raining lightening and fire, you'll do what you were ordered to."

"But this is impossible. The trail was washed away last night. How do you expect to follow something that isn't there?"

There was a sound of flesh hitting flesh and then a loud thump of something hitting the ground. Merrill edged closer and peered through a thicket and into a small clearing below. Her eyes widened and she nearly gasped right before a hand snapped over her mouth. Merrill looked back at Falon who was holding a finger to her lips before slowly pulling her hand away.

There were at least four Tevinter mages. She could tell by the insignias adorning their robes. The rest looked like guards or mercenaries and totaled at about fifteen. One mage, a tall chestnut-headed man with a short beard was standing over another mage splayed out on the ground.

"Get up," the mage growled. "Unless you want to return and say you were too wet and cold to finish carrying out your orders." The small mage on the ground shook his head as he slowly got to his feet.

"Our contact in Kirkwall," the first mage continued, "hasn't sent word that he's shown up. So that leaves us with two options. Either the slave's been caught by the scouting group and they're lost, or, more likely, he's hiding out in these caverns." Merrill turned to Falon and mouthed 'Fenris'. The ranger nodded slowly before turning back to the mages. "Either way, we're not going back until we find some trace of him."

Merrill felt Falon touch her arm and when she looked back, the human was slowly backing away and signaling for her to follow. Once they put enough distance between the mages and themselves, Merrill felt it was safe enough to talk.

"They don't know you brought him back to the city," she whispered.

Falon shushed her, "Don't talk about it Merrill. Not out here."

They broke out into a jog and started making their way down the mountain until Merrill noticed that Falon had stopped a few paces behind her. The ranger was staring at the forest behind them as her gaze jumped from the direction of the slavers and then up the river.

"What is it?" Merrill called back.

Falon shifted from foot to foot as she continued to stare upstream.

"I never got rid of the bodies," she finally said. "And there was a cave I brought him to first. I don't know if I left anything behind. It was stupid, I was too concerned about moving him, I completely forgot."

Merrill contemplated her words.

"But you heard the mage, they already think Fenris is hiding up there."

"The cave and the remains are only a short distance from the Dalish camp," Falon explained. "What if they find them and think Fenris is amongst the elves?"

"No, they wouldn't harbor him."

"But the hunters don't know that," the ranger pointed out.

Merrill felt the wood of her staff bite into her palm as her hand clenched around it. The Dalish would shoot her on sight if they ever crossed paths again, but the idea of the slavers attacking them was something she couldn't ignore. She may no longer be their First, but they were still her people.

"Alright," she said, "lead the way."

Falon streaked off as if the Dread Wolf himself were at her heels. By the time they reached a small waterfall, Merrill was slightly out of breath and bracing against her staff.

"That's where I brought him," Falon panted as she pointed to a cave almost completely obscured by the waterfall. "If you can take care of it, I'll deal with the bodies."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Hide them in the undergrowth, the trees, the rocks, I don't know, I'll think of something." She suddenly stilled and turned her ear towards the forest. Whatever it was, she quickly dismissed it. "Call out twice if you run into trouble."

Merrill nodded as Falon dashed off into the trees.

The cave was small and dark, but after her eyes adjusted, she could make out several signs that someone had been here recently. There were footprints made out of dried mud at the entrance of the cave. The stone had scorch marks on it and pieces of unburnt wood was scattered about the remnants of a tiny fire pit. Thrown to the side were a bloody piece of cloth and several stalks of elfroot.

Merrill quickly went to work scrubbing the ash from the stone and retrieving the various items left behind. Lastly, she took her waterskin and washed away the footprints before throwing the kindling into the river. After the cave was done to her satisfaction, Merrill carefully made her way out. She headed towards the thick cover of the tress and decided to wait there until Falon returned.

She kneeled down at the base of a great oak tree. Her heart was beating rapidly at the thought of the magisters prowling the forest, but what scared her more were the memories that came unbidden as she sat hunched in the shadows of the cold mountain. There she closed her eyes and prayed silently to herself. She prayed that the Keeper would watch over their clan from across the Veil. She prayed for Mythal to bless and protect her people. So lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the heavy footsteps until they were upon her.

"Well what do we have here?"

Merrill jumped and snatched up her staff. She tried to run, but someone grabbed her arm and flung her into a nearby tree. The wind was knocked from her lungs as well as her staff from her hands. Gasping for air, Merrill looked up to see three humans standing over her. Two of them wore the same frightening masks of the slavers, while the other wore the robes of a mage.

"An elf," the mage mused. "Not the one we were looking for, but not a bad find."

She was unable to see the features of the two swordsmen, but the mage looked like the same one that she had seen speaking earlier. He took a step closer and signaled to one of the men. Merrill was suddenly pulled forward as her arm was twisted roughly behind her back. So many thoughts were flying through her mind but one seemed to stick out above the rest: she didn't like the way the mage's eyes roamed over her body, nor the way he smiled.

"Tell me, little elf, have you seen anything strange lately?"

"S-Strange? N-No, nothing strange. Of course, that really doesn't mean much coming from me. You see this is the first time in a long while that I have been outside the city. And, I'm sure you've guessed, I can't really tell you what's out of the ordinary or not. But perhaps-"

The guard suddenly twisted her arm and Merrill cried out.

"Stop your blabbering you stupid knife ear," the guard growled.

The mage came closer until he was only a few inches in front of her.

"I'm talking about an elf. He has the most unique markings and pure white hair. Have you seen him in these woods?" Merrill slowly shook her head. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The mage's smile widened and Merrill's heart began to race.

"Then I'm sorry to say that we have no use of you."

Merrill heard the knife coming out of its sheath before she saw, but already she had called forth her magic. Electricity exploded around her arms as the humans jumped back with a torrent of curses.

"She's a mage!"

Without her staff, she fumbled with focusing her magic, but was still able to form a makeshift barrier before the sword came down on her. The guard came at her again, but as he neared, Merrill released some of her blood magic and the soldier crumbled at her feet in a convulsing form of panic and terror.

"An elf who is also a bloodmage," the human mage said slowly. "Interesting."

The remaining guard rushed her as the mage's hands began to glow and crackle with electricity. Merrill summoned forth a blast of cold, but by the time she was able to finish with the guard, the mage's spell was almost complete. Suddenly, a black arrow sailed through the air and embedded itself into the mage's outstretched hand with a wet thump. Merrill turned around to see Falon several yards away notching another arrow. But then, a shadow moved in Falon's blindspot just as the ranger was bringing her weapon back up.

"Falon behind you!"

The sword came down with such speed that she only had enough time to deflect it away with her bow. As the weapon was knocked away, Falon used the momentum of the swing to bring her bow back again and this time with a satisfying crack against the rogue's jaw. Once the man was dead, they returned their attentions back to the wounded mage. Shouting vehemently, the mage tried to pull the arrow from his ruined hand as Falon returned to Merrill's side. All the while, the ranger kept her arrow trained on the bloodied man.

"Knife eared bitch!"

Merrill felt the crackle of magic in the air and prepared to throw up another barrier.

"I was able to strike your hand from a much greater distance than this," Falon said slowly. "Think how easily it would be for me to place this in your forehead."

"And at this distance, think how quickly my fire would burn the both of you to ash."

The glow from the mage's good hand glowed ominously, but Falon did not drop her bow. Merrill took the opportunity to quickly regain her staff as Falon then began to slowly back away and indicated for her to follow. All the while, she and the mage never broke eye contact nor did they drop their weapons.

"I told you it was a bad idea to leave the docks," Falon snapped rather loudly.

"W-Wha-"

"Don't start with me. I told you the mages here were crazy, and the ship would leave by morning, but no, you had to explore the forest. You had to see what it was like," Falon sneered. "Well look at that, it's full of bandits and apostates, just like any other woods at any other port."

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"No, you don't think. Now let's head back to the docks before this apostate tries to roast us alive again."

Despite being completely confused by the ranger's strange behavior, Merrill continued to follow her lead. When they had put enough distance between them, Falon dropped her weapon, grabbed Merrill's hand, and sprinted down the path.

They didn't stop when they reached the base of the mountain, or when the storm broke, or when they were inside the walls of the city. Falon only released her hold on the elf once they ducked into an alley. Panting and gasping for air, they both leaned against the chipped stone as they listened to the rain drum on the roofs above.

"You…fought…very well," the ranger panted.

"Thank you," Merrill replied. "You…did too. But what…what were you talking about back there?"

"You mean…with the ship and the docks?" Merrill nodded as Falon shrugged. "It was a ruse to throw them off. If they suspect someone had helped Fenris, they should suspect us and hopefully, now they'll investigate the docks first."

"Why, and this may sound rather callous, but why didn't you just kill the mage?"

"I don't think it very callous to kill a slaver, Merrill, but the answer to your question: we were too close to the Dalish camp. If we had killed all of them and the rest of their group found the bodies, who's to stop them from turning on the camp like we feared before?"

"Oh, well that was clever."

Falon took a seat on the ground and pulled her hood down, "I guess but it means we have to lay low for a while."

Merrill relaxed against the wall as she let the cool rain steady her nerves, "I'm good at that. You don't spend years avoiding Templars and not be. But what about you, are you going to go back?"

Falon stared at the dirty sandstone wall for a few seconds before slowly shaking her head, "Not with so many slavers and Imperium mages in the woods. And not with my hand the way it is now."

The ranger held up her left hand that was now stained a deep red. Even with the ruined leather of her glove partially covering it, she could still make out a deep gash that ran along the palm of her hand almost all the way to the bone. She pulled out a piece of cloth and tied it around the wound.

"Was that from just now?"

Falon nodded, "It's from the last slaver, the one that jumped me. At least it was my hand and not my throat."

Already blood was steadily dripping from the ranger's badly bandaged hand.

"Falon, if you want, you can stay with me. At least until the slavers move on and your hand is healed." The ranger gave the mage the most perplexed look that Merrill had to turn her gaze somewhere else. "I mean with the rainy season beginning and game being hard enough to get as it is," Merrill continued, "perhaps you would like to stay in the city? I know it might be different, but the weather can get somewhat dangerous without the proper shelter. But then again, the Alienage isn't really that much of an improvement, what with the patchy roofs and-"

"Thank you, Merrill, I… appreciate your offer."

"Oh, well, you're welcome."

Making sure all her herbs and roots were still intact, Merrill repositioned her bag and started off for her house.

"Merrill?"

"Yes?"

Falon had not moved from her spot. With her hood pulled away, the blood and mud was slowly being cleaned from her features as the rain ran down her face and through her hair. Even the stains on the leather of her coat and gauntlets were steadily being washed away. She sat motionless as her gaze shifted from Merrill's hands and then to her face.

"Merrill, are you a blood mage?"

The elf felt like someone had pierced her heart with a cold needle. Her hands went numb as she stared at her bare feet.

"Yes."

"You didn't seem like one at first. You can practically smell the blood on blood mages. You don't…you don't practice on others, do you?"

"Of course not! I would never use magic that way. I only…you see..." The ranger's features were blank but attentive as she waited for her answer. Merrill's thoughts tumbled and scrambled for the right words that would explain herself, but at the same time she shuddered to confess such acts. "It's only…blood magic is magic like any other," she stated. "I know what I'm doing, at least I thought I did," she mumbled under her breath. "But I'm careful. I only use it in the most dire of situations now."

"Fine," the ranger sighed as she stood up, "if you think you have it under control, then I believe you."

Merrill's head snapped up, "Excuse me?"

"I just needed to make sure," the woman stated as she brushed the muck from her bottom and legs.

"You're…you're not afraid?"

Falon didn't meet her gaze, but she didn't turn away either. And that gave Merrill hope.

"I'll be honest with you Merrill. I think blood magic isn't something that should be considered lightly. I detest pacts with demons, and in the end, the mage is always the victim."

"I know," Merrill said. "You have no idea how much I understand that. I have never taken another demon's offer since, but this…it's just what I am now."

Merrill expected her to turn away, to shun her just like all her people did when they learned what she had become. She could never deny what she had done in her past. Even now, Ander's and Hawke's words felt like a knife in her gut. They were so true, yet at the same time, she wished they weren't. And despite the slavers, despite the bloodshed, for a brief moment today, it was good to be among the forest. It felt as if she had been among friends again. It was then that she felt a small hand with calloused fingers upon her shoulder. Merrill looked up and met the ranger's strange mismatched eyes.

"Come on," she said. "We should get out of the rain."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x 

Three weeks.

Three blasted weeks and he hadn't even made a dent in deciphering Blind-eye's message. He tried everything: distilled ink, iridescent powder, the works, but the moldy piece of parchment was still a moldy piece of parchment with the same figures and numbers that Blind-eye had scribbled with his own hand. It was one thing to deter unwanted eyes, it was another matter all together when the message couldn't even be relayed. He would have to tell the sodden old dolt to not keep his messages so cryptic.

During the whole process, the elf had been little help. Even with Daisy's poultices and medicine, he had spent nearly the entire time bedridden, and while he had fought off the infection, his wounds were still on the mend and he had yet to fully wake up. To be honest, he never pictured the elf as the easiest patient, which was a gross understatement, and since he seemed to recoil at every noise from downstairs, it was no coincidence that he had Daisy put a generous helping of sleeping draught in his medicine. Besides, the broody little elf needed the rest.

There was a loud thump from down the hall, probably just another patron falling off his barstool again, but it was enough to get the elf to become restless. Varric waited a few moments for him to settle down before once more returning to his work. It was already well into the night, and the writing was beginning to blur. Varric sighed and leaned back into his chair. He didn't know what else to do besides go track down Blind-eye again. It wasn't something he was looking forward to, especially if the old man didn't want to be found.

Outside his door, he heard the approach of a couple of drunkards before one of them fell to the floor in a cackling heap. On any other day, he would have simply ignored it, but the moment he recognized the tell-tale stumbling, he jumped up with the same draught in hand that Merrill had given him. He didn't make three steps before the elf began thrashing on the bed as he struggled to free himself from the tangled sheets. Varric hesitated for a moment then quickly braced the elf as best he could. Twice he was nearly burned and if not for his quick reflexes, he was sure the elf would have cracked his jaw.

"Fenris, elf, snap out of it," he said as soothingly as he could. He learned soon enough not to fight the elf when he got like this. It was better to just let him come back on his own and to try as best as he could to not let the warrior hurt himself any more than he already was. "Come on elf. That's it."

Slowly, Fenris's clouded eyes seemed to focus on him. He blinked a few times beneath his disheveled bangs before he finally registered the dwarf. Varric coax him to lie back down and was able to get him to drink the sleeping draught. In a few short moments, the elf was back asleep, but Varric continued to watch him to make sure he stayed that way before peeling back the elf's shirt. The dwarf cursed under his breath and retrieved a salve from the nightstand. This was the third time the elf thrashed so violently hat he reopened his wounds.

Hawke was never one to splurge on details nor was the elf, but if this was any indication of to why things never worked out, excluding the whole betrayal thing, then he had a pretty good idea now. Not that he blamed the poor bastard. Fenris was always a fighter despite how long those slavers had kept him on the run. But he knew from experience, if you were backed into a corner, there was no one else you would rather have on your side than the seemingly half-rabid elf.

Even now, the elf seemed to be fighting the effects of the potion. Varric merely shook his head and left the elf to his chaotic sleep. He made his way back to his chair in front of the fireplace that had also been serving as his bed during this time. Suddenly feeling very exhausted, he merely glanced at the parchment he had left on the table. What he saw made him curse and quickly rush over. In his haste, he must have knocked the table along with the bottle of wine he had left opened. While the wine was a relatively cheap brand, the parchment that Blind-eye had given him was now soaked in it. Varric pulled what he could from the sodden mess and laid it out on a dry part of the table. Some papers disintegrated in his hands while only a few large portions remained. He salvaged what he could and when he was done, he wanted to kick himself.

"Not much of choice in seeing the old coot now," he mumbled to himself.

He was slipping. He hadn't made this kind of rookie mistake since he first started out in the business years ago, and that was longer than he cared to mention. Now feeling twice exhausted and knowing he definitely had to find a way to track down Blind-eye, he staggered over to his chair. But as he did so, he noticed the dark lines forming around the sodden parchment. On closer inspection, he watched as the lines slowly began to appear and twist and weave into some kind of image. On another piece, the fine lines began to form words. Varric rubbed the sleep from his eyes just to make sure that he wasn't seeing things, but when the writing and lines remained, he couldn't help but smirk.

"A glass of wine indeed," the dwarf mused.

* * *

Thank you to all that favored and reviewed. Again, constructive criticism is welcomed. Thanks again.


	5. Touched By Magic

A/N: Nope, still don't own it (damn...), anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.  
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

It was different here. Perhaps she had not anticipated just how different it would be, and that is why she found it overwhelming at times despite living here for over a fortnight. She had immediately claimed Merrill's hearth as her bed, which the mage was hesitant for her to take since that meant the ranger would be sleeping on the floor. But eventually, after a little convincing, the mage let her have her spot by the fire. However, the drawback to Merrill's offer was the acclimation to city life. The noise and presence of so many around her was hard enough to get use to, but she soon learned that her sleep patterns were going to have to alter as well. Being somewhat nocturnal by preference, Falon didn't realize how strict most city dwellers were when it came to curfews. As soon as the sun went down, the hustle and bustle of the city instantly died. Of course, she was immediately swayed by this, but even when she attempted to continue her nighttime routine, she found it near impossible to get any amount of sleep during the day. In the end she had to make some compromises and simply took to her bedroll soon after midnight rather than early morning. It still meant she would be awakened by the sounds of the city rising, but at least she could drag her sleep into somewhat of a late morning and still have the energy to function in this place.

Even now, with Merrill's bare feet, she could hear the elf's soft patter across the wooden floors as she began her morning routine. Falon kept her eyes closed and pretended to still be asleep at least for Merrill's sake. The last time Merrill had woken her by accident, the ranger had been drowsing until the mage dropped a heavy book onto the floor. It didn't break anything, but it was enough to cause the woman to jump out of her bedroll with her dagger drawn. It took her a moment of frantic searching to realize that there was no threat. Merrill had apologized profusely and swore she would be more quite in the future, despite Falon's reassurances that all was well and to just leave it. In truth, the ranger had felt embarrassed for such an abrasive overreaction.

However this time, she heard the heavy footfalls approaching the door and wasn't shocked by the three loud knocks on it. It was silly to feign sleep through something like that, but she kept her eyes closed as Merrill rushed to the door as silently and quickly as she could.

"_Hahren,"_ Merrill whispered, as she stepped outside of her doorway and partially closed the door behind her, "what are you doing here this morning?"

The Alienage's elder seemed to pick up on Merrill's hushed tones. Falon soon found herself hard pressed to follow the conversation without openly admitting to eavesdropping. So while Merrill spoke with the elder, her guest decided it was finally time to wake up. She put her bedroll away and followed her nose to the side of the fireplace where a pot of bubbling porridge sat next to a spitted pigeon that she had placed there a few hours earlier. The rest of her spoils from last night were hung up in the back of the room where they were plucked and waiting to be put in a pot. Surprisingly, hunting wasn't too much of a hurdle to overcome here. It was obvious that there was no deer or rabbit within the city walls, but she was surprised by the size of the birds, especially in Hightown. Of course, it became clear as to their size once she saw the extent that many of the nobles went to feeding the pigeons for fun. She didn't complain. It only meant fatter squab to eat and trade.

As she divided up the bird, scooped up a couple bowls of porridge for both of them, and poured herself a cup of tea, Falon made it a point to keep out of eyesight of Merrill's visitor. She knew how particular Alienages were of their seclusion from the humans of a city; she made no assumptions that having someone like her, as discreet as she was, would be wholly welcomed here.

"Yes, _Hahren_," Merrill's voice replied somewhat louder, "I understand, but it is only for a short time. She has no other place to go and knows no one else in the city."

Falon sat down at the table and again _attempted_ to not eavesdrop, however Merrill's house was somewhat small and Merrill did not make it a point to close the door completely behind her as both the volume of their voices began to rise.

"Be that as it may, child, she is a _shem._ Surely your other friends can find a more suitable place for her to stay. It was one thing to have your acquaintances visit you. Those were at least were few and far apart."

"But she hasn't caused any problems," Merrill insisted. "She's hardly ever seen and mostly only ever goes out at night."

Falon huffed at that. From the way Merrill described her, it was like she was housing some kind of contraband pet.

"That's precisely it," the old elf replied and in an even lower whisper he continued. "It's enough for them to know about your…talents. Here in our Alienage, we always keep our business to ourselves and from outsiders. That is simply our way. But your…houseguest…she causes uneasiness amongst us. It is unnatural enough that a human wishes to stay in an Alienage, but her continued venturing around the city at night causes suspicion. And the last thing we need is suspicion from _shems_ centered on us."

"Yes, _Hahren_, I understand, and I will speak with her about it. Good day," she replied hastily and shut the door as quickly as she could without appearing to be too rude to the old elf. When she turned around, she seemed a little shocked to see the ranger up and drinking a cup of tea at her table.

"Falon! You're awake, and here I thought you were sleeping, but then that was a little loud what with the knocking and the _Hahren's _voice raising around the end and…exactly how much of that did you hear?"

Falon smirked and rubbed the back of her head with her undamaged hand as she tried to get the sleepiness out of her joints, "Merrill, it's not like I didn't expect this to happen. I'm a little surprised that _you're_ so shocked by it. But if me being here is causing you this much trouble, I'll go find somewhere else."

"What? No, of course not! The _Hahren_ is just an ornery old halla at times. They were just as suspicious of me when I first came here. Don't worry, soon they'll realize that you don't mean any harm and go about ignoring you and acting as if you don't exist whatsoever."

Falon wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. At first she thought it was some kind of light sarcasm, but was disheartened to see the little elf stare solemnly into her bowl and pick at it with her spoon. Instead, Falon pushed the plate with the squab towards her and into her bowl.

"Here," Falon replied, "eat some of this. I got it fresh last night."

"Oh, but isn't it yours?"

"You're letting me stay in your house, Merrill. The least I could do is put some food on your table for the both of us. Go on."

The moment she offered it a second time, the elf's eyes lit up and eagerly took a wing and piece of the breast. It was gone in less than a minute.

"That is very good. How do you get them? I didn't think the guards liked us hunting birds in the squares."

"Well I hunt them at night."

"Birds don't fly at night."

"That's why I track them to their roosts during the day and scare them out of it," the hunter replied.

"Oh. I never thought of doing that."

"Neither have the guards and other vagrants," she said with a smirk as she finished drinking her tea. She wasn't that hungry but wasn't sure what dinner would be if Merrill decided to trade the other birds, so she was about to wolf down the lumpy bowl of porridge when she suddenly felt Merrill's gaze on her. She looked up and sure enough, the mage was studying her, or more specifically, her arms. "Is something wrong?"

"Huh? Oh, no, at least it's nothing that's bothering me. Only…your arms."

"What about them?"

"It's just the leather bracers. They're actually very pretty, it's just…you're always wearing them. And your boots too. I've never seen you without them, and I've never seen you take them off. Are you worried that someone will take them while you sleep?"

"Uh, no. I…I just get cold easily."

"Really? I always found Kirkwall to be a little warmer than Ferelden." Falon just merely shrugged and turned back to her meal. "Well, do you have any wool socks?"

"Wool socks? No, I don't have wool socks." The mage looked like she was about to ask something else until Falon looked up at the small window that was set high in the rafters and turned back to the mage, "Merrill, weren't you suppose to be over at Varric's by now?"

Merrill took one look at the light coming through the window and jumped out of her seat while nearly overturning the small table, "By the Dread Wolf! I'm late!"

Falon hid her smirk as she steadied the table and watched the little elf bolt around the room gathering her herbs, poultices, and finally her staff before shooting out the door with quick goodbye thrown over her shoulder.

The woman sat back in her chair and laughed quietly to herself once the silence settled over the near empty house. She loosened her gauntlets a little to ease the slight chaffing that was beginning to set in but did not remove them. Instead, she finished her tea and the other half of the bird before crawling back into her bedroll for, hopefully, another few hours of sleep.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Searing white hot pain. It had been the first thing he had remembered. Liquid fire that seemed to infect his very blood so that with each heartbeat the poison surged through his body anew and he would wish for the end. He struggled to move, to fight, to run, anything to get away from it, but his limbs were heavy and unresponsive. Even his voice failed him as he tried to scream out into the darkness. And then, amidst the swirling shadows, he sensed a presence. He could feel its hot breath burning the skin on his neck. It was hunting him, stalking him. He had to get away.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Fenris lurched forward and cried out as he clutched his side. His green eyes frantically scanned the room while his mind desperately tried to understand where he was. He was in pain but in no way close to what he had been dreaming. His side was heavily bandaged but he could see a small red spot slowly appearing in the middle of the linen. Ever so slowly, the pieces began to fall into place. He had been wounded and had fallen after the skirmish with the slavers. But how did he get here? Where was here? A door suddenly opened and Fenris tried to get to his feet, but failed miserably and only succeeded in aggravating his side even more.

"Well, good morning, sunshine."

Something clicked in his head. He knew that voice. He knew this apartment.

"Varric?"

The dwarf stood at the foot of the bed with the same smug look that almost never left his face. The last time Fenris had seen the dwarf, that look had been replaced with complete disgust as Varric watched him being led away by Denarius and a handful of his guards.

"So how are you holding up?"

The elf attempted to shift his weight on the mattress as he tried to hide his grimace.

"I've been better," he rasped. His mouth was dry and he felt like his throat was on fire. Varric went to the table and returned with a small cup of foul smelling liquid.

"Here," he said. Fenris took one sniff of it and turned it away. "C'mon, you've been taking it for the past week."

"What? How long have I been here?"

Varric put the medicine down and pulled a chair over to the side of the bed. He then produced a bottle of wine and two mugs.

"A little over two weeks now. You were in pretty bad shape. Had a hole in your gut twice the size of a man's fist that had started to turn bad. I'm surprised that you still have all your intestines, to be honest."

Fenris half listened to the dwarf's words as he carefully tried to fill in the blanks. Like the colossal waves that had battered him that night, the memory of his escape came rushing back. He knew he was dead. There had not been a doubt in his mind at the time, but as the harsh saltwater began to invade his lungs, his fear gripped him. His markings came to life on their own, and the burn on his wrists where the irons bound him distracted him for a moment from the burning of his lungs. Suddenly he was free. The shackles fell away, and he desperately swam for the pale light that had found him. Several times he broke through the surface only to be dragged back down again. His body had been thrown about to the point he no longer knew what was up or down. But when he felt the sharp stone bite into his hands and body, he clung to it, and didn't let go. Even when he heard their desperate screams, even when he heard _her_ screams, he only focused on his own survival. And secretly, deep down, his dark heart relished it.

"There…was a storm," Fenris said slowly as he tried to explain to the dwarf in as few words as possible if only to sate his curiosity. "The ship was headed for Minrathous but the hull was breeched. My markings, they…unbound me." Varric poured a glass for Fenris and then another for himself as he silently let the elf continue. "I was caught by an undertow and pulled under. I remember being thrown against the rocks and then suddenly I was washed up on the beach. I saw the trees just past the coast and ran."

"And how did you get that?" Varric asked as he gestured to the elf's side.

Fenris closed his eyes as he tried to summon up the memory.

"The rocks," he finally said.

He only noticed the wound once he was finally on land. Even then, the threat that they would come for him kept his mind from lingering on the pain.

Varric drained his cup and then refilled it.

"Lady luck must truly despise you, my friend. That or she holds you in the highest regards." Varric ignored the elf's glare as he pushed the cup into his hands. "Either way, I wouldn't expect anyone but you to pull off something like that."

"So, I find myself in Kirkwall," the elf stated. "Again."

Varric nodded, "And the answer to your next questions are yes, the templars have reinstated order, Meredith is dead, and yes, there are more slavers crawling around this city than there are freckles on Sharandra's bosom down at the Blooming Rose."

Fenris made no reply but on the inside he was seething. Mages. He thought, for the briefest of moments that perhaps maybe there were a few who could be considered decent. But he was wrong, and it had nearly cost him his freedom. He felt his markings burn at the thought of Hawke and those hypocritical abominations that followed at her heels like trained dogs. If any of them showed their faces, he would crush their skulls before they could have the chance to mutter a single spell or curse.

Of all the places for the ocean to take him, why did he have to end up back here? Why would he purposely return to the city of that traitorous…

Fenris stilled as the realization hit him.

"Varric…how did I get here?"

"You don't remember?"

"I remember the coast and the slavers that had tracked me down and then…" There was a figure. Precise and deadly, it moved through the trees without a sound and was upon them before they even realized that it had taken their men.

"She calls herself Falon," Varric stated. Fenris turned back to him as Varric got up and put another log on the fire. "Don't ask where she's from, what she does, who or if she works for anyone, because trust me, I've been asking around. No one's heard of her. Woman's practically a ghost."

"Then what do you know?"

Varric got a far-away look as he recalled the memory and then chuckled as he returned to his seat.

"Several days ago, I went out to the old Eastern Trader's Gate. Maybe I wanted to get some fresh air, I don't know why. Anyway, there I am, just standing there in the middle of the night, and I see a figure appear out of the mist."

Fenris's eyes narrowed, "I'm not in the mood for one of your stories, dwarf."

"Trust me, I know it sounds like it, but this is the Maker given truth. I swear on my brother's grave. So like I was saying, she comes out of the forest leading a halla above all things. Comes right up to the gate with it and has the same air about her as a cat in a room full of mabari. She says she needs a healer, but then refuses to go into the city. Of course I'm intrigued. I take a closer look at what the deer is carrying and low and behold who do I find?" Varric's smile grew as he watched the perplexed look on the white-haired elf's face. "She…helped me get you to the tavern and here you are," the dwarf finished quickly.

"Is that's all?"

"Yeah, in a nutshell," Varric replied as he took another draft.

"Who was the healer?"

"Pardon?"

"You said she came to the city for a healer, who was it?"

"Well who else do you think has been by your beside day and night nursing you back to health?" Fenris's eyes narrowed and Varric could see barest of hints of the glow on his arm. "Look, as I said before, you were in bad shape. You weren't going to make it if we didn't do something fast, and I couldn't risk having someone recognize you."

"Who was the mage, Varric?"

"Daisy," the dwarf replied.

Varric ducked just in time for the cup to sail past his head by a couple of inches only to shatter against the wall.

"You know, this stuff isn't cheap," he mumbled.

"How could you let that mage use her blood magic on me!" the elf roared.

"Will you calm down! I was here the whole time, there was no blood magic," Varric retaliated. "Besides, what were we suppose to do? Let you lie there and rot?"

"Better that than be in debt to a witless mage who caters to demons," Fenris snapped.

Varric rubbed his temple as he tried to think of something to say to the vengeful elf. Just then, his door opened and he cursed his luck. Really, sometimes he could almost hear his brother's spirit beyond the Stone laughing his head off.

"Good morning, Varric," Merrill said. "I just saw the most interesting thing on the way over. Oh…" The mage just then caught sight of the warrior sitting up in bed. Something akin to panic fluttered over her features, but she quickly hid it. "Fenris…. It's good to see that you're finally awake."

Fenris gave no reply as he stared daggers at the small mage. Merrill quickly turned away and busied herself as she set several vials on the table before slowly approaching the side of the bed.

"Has the willow bark been working? How are you feeling?"

She cautiously reached out as if to feel his forehead, but the white-haired elf savagely recoiled from her hand.

"Well enough not to be further molested by your magic," he growled.

The mage faltered, but quickly regained a sense of composure before once more attempting to approach the elf.

"I only used magic to burn away the infection when you first arrived and only once more the day after. I'm not skilled enough in creation magic to close wounds like that yet. I've mostly been relying on potions and poultices that my people use. Here, look."

She leaned over to peel away a layer of his bandages but he once more jerked away from her which was followed by a string of Arcanum curses. Merrill took a few steps back from him as if she afraid he might strike her.

"I was only trying to help, Fenris," she whispered.

"I do not need the help of some demon's whore."

Varric was almost as stunned by Fenris's remark as much Merrill was. The elf had been spiteful with his words in the past, but this was an all time low for him. For a few moments all he could do was stare speechless at the wounded elf and them to the small mage. Merrill hadn't moved, but he could see the way she was swallowing her hurt and the glisten of tears that threatened to fall.

"Alright then," she said quietly.

She returned to the table and gathered her things before leaving several potion bottles on the table.

"These should get you through the next few days, Varric."

"Daisy?"

Merrill quickly turned away and was out the door before another word could be muttered.

Varric watched her hasty retreat until finally turning on the elf, "Was that really necessary? Would it have killed you to be somewhat grateful?"

"Possibly," Fenris replied. "It makes no difference, it's pointless to overlook what she is, and I refuse to do so any longer."

Exasperated, Varric turned his back on the elf and poured himself another drink. If he kept this up, then he would be under the table before sundown.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Tired and more than a little aggravated, Falon ascended the stairs of the Hanged Man very slowly. The _Hahren_, had come back to the house after Merrill had left, however she hadn't bothered answering the door. But after the earlier conversation she had heard this morning, it occurred to her that it might not be such a good idea to spend time in the Alienage without Merrill around. However, her trip over here had not been the smoothest. Once she had slipped out of the Alienage, she had almost been mugged when she took a shortcut through an alley. When she had dealt with the idiot, she realized that she had somehow gotten turned around and had ended up in front of a place in Hightown that smelled too heavily of perfume and was called the Rose or something like that. She wasn't outside the door for more than a minute before a noble tried to openly solicit her for the afternoon. She had very nearly broken his jaw, but instead reined in her temper and merely pushed him aside as she made her way back to the Hanged man. But as soon as she stepped through the door, one of the drunken patrons had tried to grab her chest. As she got to the top of the stairs, she could still hear him groaning on the floor.

Suffice to say, the ranger really wasn't in the mood for any more trouble today.

As she turned the corner, she was only just able to avoid a collision with something small and willowy. Falon's shoulder clipped the elf's and her bag fell to the floor with a solid thud.

"Sorry, Merrill," Falon said as she bent to pick up the bag. "I didn't see you."

"No, no, it's q-quite alright," she said as she snatched the bag up right from under the woman's fingers. "I was j-just not l-looking at where I was going. As per usual."

The mage's face was downcast and refused to look at her as she slowly made for the stairs.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, it's fine," she choked. "I'll see you later, Falon."

And with that, the mage scurried down the stairs and out of sight. She had a sudden sinking feeling in her gut, but instead of following her, Falon turned to Varric's apartment and went inside. The dwarf looked a little haggard but still surprised to see her.

"We're just getting all sorts of visitors today," Varric mumbled.

"Merrill said that he might wake up this week, so I thought I stop by, but seeing as I just ran into her is everything alright?" Falon asked. "She looked…distraught."

"I'll give you two guesses why," Varric said and he inclined his head towards the back of the room.

Falon followed the dwarf's gaze. Fenris looked upon her with a sharpness and clarity that was impressive for a man that had been unconscious for over two weeks, but the elf looked gaunt and somewhat pale. However his current state in no way seemed to affect his incensed demeanor. Falon was beginning to think that his scowl might just be a permanent expression on his face.

"I would be distraught as well if I finally realized how tainted my existence was," the elf growled.

Taken aback by the comment, Falon glanced at Varric, but the dwarf merely shrugged.

"Take my advice, just drop it," Varric said as he poured her a drink.

Falon took one look at the dwarf's expression and the glaring elf a few feet away as she remembered Merrill's hasty retreat out of the tavern. And then she finally came to the realization.

Ignoring the drink, she stalked over towards the elf's bedside, "What did you say to her?"

He wasn't fazed by her abrupt accusation, in fact it looked as if he had been expecting it. He didn't avert his glare nor did he make any indication of backing down despite his prone position.

"Nothing that wasn't already known or should have been said," the elf growled. "I do not waste my sympathies on demon worshippers nor should you. If you knew what she has done in the past, you wouldn't be so keen to defend her."

Suddenly, Varric had jumped up from his seat to the ranger's side, "Hey, Falon, why don't we go down to the bar? My treat."

Falon pushed the dwarf aside as she glared back at the elf with equal resolve.

"If not for Merrill, that wound of yours would have eaten through half your body in only a few days. Not to mention that you would be a corpse by now."

"Spare me the rhetoric, I've heard it before."

"Where do you get the gall?" she snapped.

"Experience," he practically yelled back at her. "Mages are all the same, whether by their own devices or misplaced excuses, they'll all turn on you in one form or another. If you expect me to be grateful for that abomination's tainted blood, then you're wasting your breath."

The room had gone silent, but in her head there was a cacophony of voices and memories. She pushed it away. Varric was watching her hands closely while his own rested innocently on his crossbow. The elf never turned away as he dared her to challenge his defiance.

"You're right in saying that I don't know her," Falon said steadily, "just as I know next to nothing about you. But that didn't stop me from dragging your mangled body all the way here. Honestly, I'm surprised Merrill did agree to help you. It would have just been easier to let you die. I mean, that would be the most logical choice for a mage that knows blood magic, right?"

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. His eyes widened in astonishment for a fraction of a second before narrowing on her once more while his markings flared to life.

"Is that a threat?" he said evenly.

"No," the woman said slowly, "merely a hind sight observation." She quickly turned away and headed for the door. "Try not to exert yourself too much. Now that our healer's gone, we've no one to tend to your wound if it gets infected again, and that would be an _utter_ tragedy," she said over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

She didn't know where she was going, she just knew she needed to keep moving. Even after so many years in the city, Merrill still made it a habit to keep a watchful eye on where she was headed. However, this time it was all a blur. Her mind was elsewhere as her feet carried her far away. Street vendors whisked by her without so much as a second thought. She took no heed of the buildings around her or the dreary streets and alleys.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

Perhaps it was her own fault. Ever since Hawke and the others left the city after the chaos with the templars and mages, it had just been her and Varric. The elves in the Alienage were still weary of her even though she had spent the last seven years there. It wasn't until Hawke and the rest were all gone that Merrill felt the loss of her clan all over again. And then the ranger appeared.

Falon's ease around her was a pleasant and welcoming surprise. She didn't tense when she came into the room. She didn't flinch when the elf worked magic. When Falon discovered that she was a blood mage, the ranger simply expressed her views and accepted Merrill. Even when she offered to help heal Falon's wounded hand the first day they met, the ranger declined her assistance, but didn't shove her offer back into her face. But in the end, it may have been the ranger that caused her to let her guard down.

For a brief moment, she had thought that maybe when Fenris woke, he would look at her without so much contempt. That he could at least overlook some of her past transgressions when he realized what she had done for him. But she had been utterly foolish and selfish to even think that.

The truth was savage, but it cut so much deeper when said aloud.

"He had no right to say that," she said pitifully.

Merrill wrapped her arms around her middle. Her eyes were downcast, but her feet continued to take her away.

It wasn't until she felt the wet grass under feet and the cool wind on her face that she realized that she had left the city. When she finally looked up, she was deep in the woods. She must have been walking for quite a time, for she could no longer hear the drum of the city's constant noise or smell. Merrill knew she shouldn't be out here, but it felt right.

Water began to splash over her hands, but there were no storm clouds in the sky today. The sob tore from Merrill's throat before she could stop it, but in the safety of the trees, it was all she could do but purge herself of the sadness. She cried for Keeper Marethari, for her clan, for herself. She cried for her very people who had lost everything and were now only shadows of their former selves.

Merrill wasn't sure how long she had been kneeling in the dirt, but when she was done, she felt spent, hollow, and cold. She slowly pulled herself up and began the long trudge back to the Alienage.

The blast of force magic came so suddenly that she didn't even sense it until after she was flung through the air. Her body bounced off a tree as the bark tore at her arms and face. Instinct made her scramble to her feet, but another blast pushed her back.

"I was hoping I would run across you again." Merrill felt her breath catch when she remembered the owner of that voice. "Keep an eye out; there was another one last time."

She brought her staff up as the magic came to her summons. Enchanted roots erupted around the group, but immediately withered and died when a suffocating air descended upon her. Merrill looked around as she tried to understand what had happened when she saw the mage from earlier with a familiar silver glow on his hands. The Imperium mage's smirk grew wider as she shuddered under the weight of his dispel magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see at least three guards closing in on her.

Her arm was sticky with blood and it was there that she made her last effort. Merrill pushed against the spell with all her power. For a moment she could almost feel the Veil again, but it was still out of reach. She could see the sun reflecting off metal as the swords were being drawn.

'No, not like this,' she thought.

And then, she heard him. Always just beyond her sense of consciousness, but always waiting.

_Merrill…_

The elf pushed the thought away and tried to summon her power again, but she felt nothing. All that she could feel was the presence of the demon clawing at her mind.

_I can help, little mage…_

"No!"

They were getting closer. Any second they would be on her. Did she really have to die like this? Alone and despised? Merrill felt her resolve waver. She saw the faces of all those that had died because of her. She remembered all that she had wrought unknowingly upon the people that she had cared so much for. Fenris was right, she was a monster.

And with that thought, Merrill dropped the defenses around her mind.

Power unlike she had ever felt surged though her. It was magnificent and terrifying all at once. Every part of her body felt as if it were on fire, but she welcomed it. She could see nothing, but she could hear the screams of the humans around her as they were felled by her power. An overwhelming presence flooded the last remnants of her consciousness. Foreign feelings of rage and malice consumed her as she tried desperately to keep from drowning in them. Realization of her actions dawned on her too late as the demon slowly consumed her body and spirit.

Her body began moving on her own. She could feel the lingering parts of herself begin to twist and change as the last of the humans died at her feet. She tried to cry out but she couldn't.

"Merrill!"

'No…No I can not succumb to this!'

And then the world exploded around her.

The malice, the hate, the vengeance seemed to be ripped from her body and spirit. Merrill wanted to scream from the pain of it all but at the same time welcomed the purging of the evil from her body. It seemed to go on for eternity. The demon refused to release its hold, until one final surge of power banished it from her.

Merrill slowly opened her eyes. She was still in the forest, but her refuge had become a nightmare. Scorched bodies and limbs littered the ground that was no more than a fine layer of burnt soil and ash. The trees, once green and alive, were blackened skeletons. Merrill looked at her body and gasped at the realization that she was unscathed. Her clothes were somewhat singed and torn, but she was whole. She was still herself.

'But how? I felt the demon. I felt its hold on me,' she thought to herself.

The mage struggled to her feet. Her legs were as shaky as a newborn deer but they managed to hold her weight. She leaned on her staff and slowly made her way out of the battlefield. It was then that she heard the moan. With a strength she didn't know she still possessed, Merrill drew her staff up in defense.

The groaning came not far off. A body was still intact and Merrill soon realized that it was moving. Somewhat dazed, Merrill had enough energy to summon a spell as she waited for the figure to stand. And then the human turned over.

Merrill gasped and quickly rushed to her side. Falon's eyes were closed but her face was contorted in pain as she clutched her side. Just like her, Falon's clothing was covered in dirt and grime and there was a small gash above her left eye. Just a foot away laid her thin sword stained with blood. Merrill gently rolled her onto her back and she groaned again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Merrill said quickly. Falon's eyes cracked open and slowly roamed over the scene around her before finally settling on Merrill. The little mage's hands flew over the woman's body as she searched for wounds or broken bones. "Falon are you hurt badly?"

The ranger grunted again but moved to get up. Merrill grabbed her arm and shouldered most of her weight as Falon stumbled to her feet. The mage pulled her arm over her shoulders and braced both of them with her staff before quickly snatching up Falon's sword.

"We should leave," Falon grunted. "You…were not very subtle."

"I'm sorry," Merrill repeated.

It sounded hollow and pathetic, but it was the only thing she could think of. Falon trudged forward without a reply as she pulled Merrill with her. Merrill felt her strength gradually return, but the way back was still slow. Falon's feet seemed to be made of lead and every minute that past, Merrill felt more and more of her weight being shifted to her. Suddenly the ranger stilled and then dropped to her knees while pulling Merrill down with her. The thick bushes surrounded them and before Merrill could breathe a question, the heavy footsteps silenced her.

The leaves were so thick that Merrill was just barely able to see the armor and robes of the humans pass. At one point she was sure they would crash through the foliage and discover them, but as soon as they came they went. Silence engulfed them, and it was a few minutes before Falon allowed them to emerge from their hiding spot.

They hurried back after that, and Merrill was relieved to not run into anymore slavers. It was a good thing, because she wasn't sure how lucid Falon was and her own thoughts were too scattered to be of any help. As soon as the gates were in sight, Falon pulled away from her and brought her hood up. Merrill tried to help her, but she was insistent that she walk on her own for the rest of the way. When they were finally safe in Merrill's house, Falon collapsed in a chair while Merrill ran to the back for her poultices.

"I'm fine, Merrill," she called from her seat. "I'm only a little bruised and battered."

The elf ignored her as she fumbled with the vials. The words on the labels seemed to be scribbled on. She was unable to read them and she couldn't remember what she needed exactly. Frustrated, Merrill grabbed everything and splayed them out on the table.

"Merrill…"

Potions and ingredients rolled everywhere, but she paid them no mind. She reached for one, she had no idea what it was, but her hands were shaking so much she could barely hold it, much less remove the stopper.

"Merrill!"

The ranger's voice seemed to echo off her dingy walls and inside her very skull. Merrill carefully set the vial down and then slowly sat in the seat next to Falon. She blinked a few times and it was then that she realized that she was holding a bottle of deathroot extract.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Merrill, stop apologizing and get a hold of yourself."

"I'm-"

Merrill took a deep breath and covered her face with her hands. What had she done? She had almost… By every right of magical law she should be gone, yet she was still here. Everything that the Keeper had sacrificed, she had nearly destroyed in a brief moment of weakness. At this point, Fenris's words danced in her head and never before had she believed them with so much conviction. She wanted to cry, but her tears were all dried up.

"I don't…I don't deserve to-"

"Merrill, what happened back there?"

Merrill gathered her strength as she held herself, "The slavers were there before I even realized it. There were so many and the demon…I let it…I let it-"

The ranger rubbed her head while being mindful of the gash above her eye.

"What in the Void were you thinking, Merrill!" she suddenly snapped. "You could have died. Worse, you could have become an abomination." Falon turned away from her as if she preferred to look at anything else in the room besides the little mage. "It's one thing to be pushed into a corner," she mumbled to herself. "It's another to throw everything away because of fear."

Falon's words cut into her as easily as one of Isabela's daggers, and Merrill felt her insides churn in shame. Unbidden, the tears finally came once more and with them memories of Keeper Marethari bleeding on the ground, Pol dead in the mines, Tamlen lost forever to the darkness. She thought she knew the dangers, but in her moment of weakness, she nearly lost everything.

And then she could no longer hold it in. She began to tell Falon everything. She told her of Tamlen, the mirror, the blood magic, Hawke, and finally the demon and the Keeper. She didn't know what compelled her to reveal all of this to her. Merrill felt she could no longer hold in every heartbreaking event and every moment of weakness. The woman sat silently by her side the entire time. Never once did she make a move to question her or console her but simply listened until Merrill was done with her tale. And for that at least, the mage was grateful.

Nothing in the room stirred expect for the occasional sputter from the fireplace. Merrill didn't even dare look up at the ranger for she was sure that with the slightest provocation, Falon would leave.

Suddenly, she felt arms wrap around her in a soothing embrace. At first she was hesitant, but slowly she felt her own arms wrap around the body and her head lean on a shoulder. Merrill cried harder. Memories of the demon's hold on her made her almost choke on the fear, but Falon's slow even breaths calmed her until her own breathing mirrored the ranger's. It was only when she had calmed that Falon finally pulled away.

"Merrill, there are far worse things than death in this world," Falon said suddenly. Her voice was soothing and soft, completely different from her earlier tone.

"I don't know what happened. I never felt so angry or so frightened all at once like that. At first I thought I had control until I felt my mind slipping away. And then-" Merrill wasn't quite sure how to describe what followed. The woman sitting next to her was focused on her every word, but made no move to rush her. "And then it felt as if the demon was ripped from my body. I don't know how else to explain it."

"It actually had a hold of you?" Falon asked.

Merrill nodded, "I don't know how I'm still here. Perhaps the Keeper is still watching over me." Merrill traced the lines in the wood of the table before finally looking up. "How did you know where I was?"

Falon sighed and attempted to run a hand through her tangled hair but brushed against the gash on her forehead. She hissed at the contact and picked up one of Merrill's vials. She dabbed some of its contents onto a piece of cloth before pressing it to her head and finally turning to Merrill.

"After I went to see Varric," Falon said, "I went looking for you. One of the merchants mentioned seeing you leave the city and I was able to track you through the woods. I arrived just before… well anyway, I was too distracted and was blindsided by one of the men. I was only able to take down one before the blast caught me."

"Why did you come after me?"

A dark shadow was cast over Falon's eyes for a brief moment. She pulled the cloth away to add more of the medicine before continuing.

"I met Fenris and he expressed his…opinion of mages and of you. I wasn't even a mage and received a good douse of his venom, so I thought I should make sure you were alright."

"But you don't completely disagree with him either, and after today, I think he makes a good point."

They sat in silence for a few moments. The only sounds were that of the fire and the soft pat of rain on the roof.

"I've seen evil, Merrill," she all but whispered. The elf looked back at the ranger, but Falon didn't catch her gaze. Instead she was staring off into the fire as if seeing it for the first time. "I have seen the worst in people and I know what it feels like to be in the presence of something truly vile. If I thought that you were a threat or didn't have the strength to control your power, I wouldn't take the risk of being here."

"But after all that I've done… I could never ask my clan to forgive me. If Hawke hadn't been there after everything that had happened, they would have killed me without a second thought."

"And if given another chance, would you have made the same choices?"

"No," the elf said quickly. "I would give anything to change what I've done."

"We can't change the past, Merrill, no matter how much it hurts us, but we can learn from it."

"That's not very comforting."

"It's not, but it's the truth," Falon replied. "And the truth is not comforting at times."

Merrill sighed as she leaned back in her chair. But oddly enough, Falon's words did seem to sooth her spirit. There had been a hole in her heart ever since that day she told the Keeper about the blood magic. The hole and the emptiness it brought with it seemed to grow with each year she was apart from her people. Even when Hawke left, it only left a bigger void. Yet this strange woman, who knew the woods as well as any Dalish and had an openness about magic that was rarely seen in others, looked upon her without fear or judgment.

"Thank you, Falon."

The ranger gave her a small reassuring smile before placing the soiled cloth on the table and getting up to tend to the rest of her wounds, "You're a strong mage, Merrill and you know the dangers better than some mages twice your age. You aren't doing any favors to the memory of the ones you just told me about by forgetting what happened in the past."

Merrill smiled at the ranger's words and watched as she began to leave the room. That's when she remembered.

"Falon, wait!" She stopped short while Merrill dove for her bag and pulled out the tiny bundle. Thankfully, it didn't look damaged or singed despite their earlier skirmish. "I got you this before I went to the Hanged Man."

Falon had a confused look on her face as she took the parcel from her and began to unwrap it but smirked when she held them up.

"Wool socks." She chuckled and shook her head but still continued to smile. "Thank you, Merrill."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The streets reeked of rotten fish and waste. She had thought the smell of Lowtown had been bad, but this was borderline torturous. She could swear that one of the smells was actually burnt hair from the stench of the docks singeing her nose hairs. But if the smell wasn't enough to sicken her stomach, then the sight of the docks would. Upon first arriving at the port of Minrathous, it seemed like a typical port, at least her idea of a typical port that was in the vicinity of Lowtown. However it was ten times as busy with just as many dock workers running about securing cargo and ships. As their ship docked, she didn't have to worry about drawing too much attention, even if she was hooded and practically dragging another hooded figure as he slumped over her shoulder. The amount of people crammed into such a small space was staggering and they were easily overlooked.

Somehow, she had found a tavern that at least looked promising. At the moment, anything that was a slight resemblance to a bed and wasn't rocking on water would be a blessing to her. The sign was in Arcanum but it had a picture of cat wearing a feathered hat and sitting on a chair. Considering how the last local tavern she was affiliated with had a giant man hanging from his feet, she could only hope that the locals were as much cat-lovers as the mage at her shoulder. Hopefully, they could just keep their heads down, get a room, and none would be the wiser.

The barroom was a cacophony of noise. Different languages flooded her ears, Arcanum, Antivan, Orleasian, she swore she even heard some Qunari which caused some very unwelcomed flashbacks. In the center of the room was the bar that was being manned by a comical pair of men. One was so short and thin, he looked almost like an oversize broomstick. The other was a portly man that seemed to move too fast for his girth. Neither had the same welcoming air that Corff had back at the Hanged Man, but considering how far away she was from home now, she doubted anything was going to feel familiar for a long time.

Already many of the stools had been taken as the dock workers flooded in after completing their shifts. Around the room, small tables were placed along the walls while a large fireplace on the far-end of the establishment was lit despite the ungodly heat. Few seemed to take notice of one more seafarer stepping into the room and the fact that she had an oversized hound at her heels and a nearly six-foot tall man hanging off of her barely got her a side-ways glance. Hefting Anders into one of the barstools, she waved over the burly bartender.

It was the large barkeep that heard her, "_Quid vis?"_

"Uh, come again?"

The man sucked his lips, revealing yellow teeth amidst his ragged short beard, "What you want?" he replied with a distinct Tevinter accent.

"Well, I guess a glass of anything that will give a kick, right now. And later, a room for me and my friend here would be good."

The bartender reached down and produced a wooden mug and filled it with a dark brown liquid that sloshed over the rim.

He shoved it in her direction, "Room one horn a night. Three for week."

"Horns?"

"For Ferelden, one silver, one week."

"One silver! What are your sheets made of silken rat skin?"

"You want room, that is price. Take or leave."

Those few years in Hightown among the nobility in no way influenced Hawke's economic beliefs. Varric always said she had a head for money, while Anders would say her history had taught her the value of coin which only made her frugal. In reality, she was just cheap. Still, a bed was a bed and from what it looked like, she wasn't going to do much better. Hawke produced one of her few remaining silvers and let it clatter on the countertop. Almost faster than she could see, the barkeep snatched up the coin before it could even settle.

"Up stairs, last on left," he replied gruffly and then pointedly turned his back on her.

The room was maybe only half the size of one of the apartments in the Hanged Man. The wood of the bed and the small dresser was dark and had a distinct mildew smell to it. Even the blanket and sheets looked like it had a multitude of small insects living in it. All in all, it didn't look any worse than Uncle Gamlan's old shanty. She could make do for a few nights here at least.

Hawke heaved the mage onto the bed as best she could. He groaned and mumbled but once she believed Anders was asleep once more, she turned to the chipped wash basin and began a vain attempt at scrubbing away the grim from their travels. Once she felt somewhat refreshed, or at least didn't feel like she had an inch of dirt and sea salt on her face, she threw her cloak over by her pack and began the task of unbuckling the various straps and cinches that composed her armor. It was all methodical at this point, but she caught her image in the cracked mirror and paused.

The Mantle of the Champion.

Some of the pieces she had received after the fight with the Arishock, others she had obtained by sheer luck and happenstance. But by whatever means she had undergone to acquire the unique set of robes, is had proved its worth time and time again. However, as she looked at herself now, with the sharpened gauntlets and spurred boots, she no longer felt the small spark of pride from the title that accompanied the armor. It had long ago been snuffed out. Now, she saw only a mage that, despite her struggles with both her family and herself, had once more resorted back to the most remedial aspects of a renegade mage's life: Fleeing.

The creaking of old wood pulled her away from the mirror and back to the small room. Anders had finally awakened and was sitting on the edge of the bed appearing slightly confused.

"Anders?" He was staring at his hands while pressing the tips of his fingers together and rubbing them. "Anders," she said again more forcefully, yet the mage acted as if he hadn't heard her. Carefully, Hawke approached him and placed her unarmored hand over his. "Anders, are you alright?"

With a speed and strength she had never seen from him before, he snatched her forearm and threw her across the room. Her head bounced off the wall and for a moment, all she could see was a blue haze steadily growing larger as it loomed over her.

"Deceiver, beguiler, how dare you try to tempt me!"

That deep, echoing baritone was enough to drive her vision clear. When she looked up, Ander's hands were aglow with a blue and black flame while his eyes had lost all clarity except for Justice's own burning vengeance.

Her staff was foolishly left on the other side of the room while half her armor was discarded on the floor. Garm gave a loud growl, but she signaled for him to stay out of it. He whined, but obediently remained on the other side of the room.

"Anders…enough. I know you're still in there. Get control of yourself."

Her words might as well have been in Arcanum for all the good it did. In fact, from the way the cracked, glowing skin along his eyes burned brighter, she was sure it had just had the opposite effect. In the back of her mind, she wondered why it was that all the men she was involved with always had a scary, bluish glow about them whenever they were pissed off?

He was looming dangerously close and it was then she realized just how precarious the situation had turned. At this distance, he didn't even need a staff to focus enough magic to smite her to oblivion. She quickly changed tactics.

"Anders," she said softly with a slight, wavering plea to her voice. "Anders, please come back. Please don't lose yourself, not after we've come this far."

The glow in the possessed mage's eyes wavered and then flickered to the familiar hazel. Hawke held her breath as she waited for him to finally grasp those few strands of sanity still left. He finally backed down and staggered back while clutching his head. The backs of his knees hit the bed, and he fell onto it still trembling and quaking.

"Hawke?" The woman finally allowed herself to heave a sigh of relief and slowly approached the mage. "Did I…?"

"You're fine, just as am I. Justice was probably just cranky after such a long trip," she added.

"Trip? Then we're in…" He gazed around their meager lodgings and its contents still somewhat dazed.

"Not as glamorous as Fenris described it as, but yes, we made it to Minrathous."

"Minrathous…" he said vaguely and then gazed down at his hands again. "And me, an abomination in a city of political mages that use power and control to determine status. Hawke... perhaps you should, for your own safety…perhaps you should reconsider you decision."

She knew immediately at what he was talking about. Even now the smell of a burning and panicked city flooded her senses, and just like now, he was in front of her prone, vulnerable, and waiting for her judgment, and just like before, she didn't hesitate.

Hawke grabbed him by the robes and hauled him onto his feet, "Andraste's flaming tits, Anders! Do you really think that I would kill you after we've made it this far? Besides, it's going to be hard enough to survive in this city with just the two of us." Her mabari gave a rather indignant bark from across the room. "Three of us," she quickly corrected.

"Hawke, I don't want to cause you anymore grief in your life. After all that I've done, I can't ask for anymore of your help."

"Then don't see it as me helping you, see it as the other way around. I wasn't lying when I said I can't do this alone. Even in the beginning I had Carver and Moth-" Despite all the time that had passed, she still choked on the name when she didn't prepare herself for it. The emotions were still just too raw. She immediately buried them and tried to hide it, but Ander's lipid, knowing eyes didn't miss it. Hawke quickly regained her composure and continued, "Anders, I can't do this alone. I need to have someone with me who I can trust more than ever, even if you aren't always…yourself."

"Hawke…it's just for that reason that you shouldn't trust me. As much as I want you to, you shouldn't."

"Despite if we like it or not, Anders, you're all I have now. Well, you and Garm."

"Hawke…I…"

The woman gently coaxed him to lie back down on the bed, "Just sleep, Anders. I think once you've rested and you realize we're safe, Justice won't be quite so…uncooperative."

Hawke made to leave him, but Anders's hand was suddenly in her hair, and before she could realize what he was doing, he pulled her down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. At first, she balked at his advances and couldn't help but think of another pair of lips which were forceful and demanding compared to his gentle and tentative mouth. But slowly, she allowed herself to ease into it, and when she finally pulled away, he seemed pleased with what he saw and allowed her to rise from his side.

"Rest, Anders. I'll keep watch for a little while."

It seemed that was the last reassurance that the mage needed, and Hawke watched as he immediately succumbed to the pull of the Fade. All the while, her mind drifted back and forth from the chaste kiss to the ghost of a memory that still seemed to linger in her thoughts.

* * *

**A/N**: I don't know why it is, but I knew that Arcanum is a spin-off of Latin, yet I was never properly able to come up in my mind what a 'Latin accent' would sound like or how it would actually be spoken. Despite all attempts and purposes at his accent portrayal, the Minrathous bartender in my mind was just too overpowering, and eventually he seemed to have come out as a misplaced Russian who got lost somewhere between Seheron and the Waking Sea…go figure lol.

Anyway, thanks for all who's taken the time to read this and give their opinion. It's all very much appreciated.


	6. Bad Enough

A/N: Bioware has strict ownership of all aforementioned characters, established pre-plots, and other literary jargon. The rest of this is mine. Enjoy.

* * *

Don't hit at all if it is honorably possible to avoid hitting; but never hit softly.

~Theodore Roosevelt

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Fenris slowly paced the length of the room in only a few long strides. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he passed the table with its various empty cups and bottles of wine. In the time that he had been here, Fenris had memorized every detail of the room from which floorboards creaked when tread upon to every potential weapon in the room an assassin could utilize. It was a trait in which he couldn't recall how he acquired but to this day was now a reflex every time he entered a room. Now, he seemed to be doing it out of sheer boredom.

His side burned from the strain of his pacing, but if he spent one more minute in that bed, he was going rip it to pieces. He was having enough trouble being confined to the small apartment, but the threat of Denarius's spies left him little options. It aggravated him to no end and his hand itched to grab one of the empty bottles and hurl it across the room, but Varric had already voiced his displeasure at such actions. Frustrated, Fenris continued his tedious pacing.

It was bad enough that he was wounded but it only added insult to the injury when the blood mage took it upon herself to look after him. Even after he threatened her, the damn mage continued to send medicine to him. He had refused it, but it was only a few days ago that he realized the dwarf had been hiding it in his food and drink. If it wasn't for his side and Varric's quick reflexes, he would have strangled the little rogue. Fenris now took it willingly if just to get out of this place sooner.

If he was being honest, in the past, he had enjoyed the dwarf's company at the Hanged Man, but that had been when he had his own residence to retreat back to. Being in the filthy tavern with its constant smell of stale beer and vomit was beginning to irritate him and the dwarf's presence was becoming less than tolerable.

Instantly he was torn from his musings and stilled when he heard footsteps from behind the door. They were light and quick, nothing like the thick footed patron's or Varric's short choppy ones. Fenris's hand instinctively reached behind his back for a weapon that wasn't there. Cursing, he retreated around the corner and pressed his back against the wall as he waited.

The door opened silently as the silhouette of a woman entered the room. Fenris released a breath he didn't know he had been holding when he recognized the ranger. He stepped around the corner as her mismatched eyes immediately fell on him and then at his side.

"Should you be up?"

He gave her a slightly agitated look before turning his back on her.

"Shut the door," he replied before sitting down at the table.

Ever since their first encounter, their following meetings had been brief. It was often her that the mage sent to bring his medicine, but he had the suspicion that it was under duress from the dwarf. Apparently, the rogue was still somewhat aggravated with him and his choice words for the blood mage and didn't want them crossing paths anytime soon.

"Is Varric here?" the ranger asked.

So lost in his thoughts he had forgotten she was still in the room.

"No."

"Do you know where he went?"

"No."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No."

"Can you say anything less helpful?"

"N-"

Fenris glared up at the woman staring impassively down at him, but he didn't miss the way the side of her mouth twitched ever so slightly. He didn't like the way she looked at him. It was wary and distant as if she were reluctant to be near him. It was something that wouldn't usually bother him. In fact, he rather preferred to be left alone. But unlike others who blatantly stared at his markings and strange features, she would turn away and more often than not, speak without facing him. Whether she did this on purpose or not, he was unsure, but when she did address him face to face, her eyes sought out his and held them. It was a strange behavior and somewhat unnerving to the elf. Even now, she adverted her eyes as she sat down at the far end and placed a small leather pouch on the table.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Waiting."

"Then go wait downstairs."

Her eyes narrowed as she seemingly observed the apartment but didn't turn towards him when she replied with a distinct, "No."

She gave no further explanation as she leaned back into one of the wooden chairs and stared into the fire. Fenris eyed her carefully. From her earlier visits, he had noticed the multiple wounds, though now they seemed to have healed. Even the rather deep one over her eye was nothing more than a slightly discolored scar now. But her right hand was still heavily bandaged. As a random thought, he wondered if she was still able to wield a weapon.

But what he hadn't noticed before was the forlorn air that clung to her. She looked tired and worn since the last he saw her. Her face seemed drawn and her skin pale while there was a weariness about her that seemed to drag at her body

Fenris had no idea what would compel the woman to come here, much less intrude on the only time where he could get solace from Varric's absence. But despite his lack of hospitality and even colder disposition, she took no notice.

"What is your business with Varric?" Fenris said slowly.

She put her elbow on the table and held her head with her undamaged hand as she continued to stare into the fireplace. "He asked me to meet him here. Beyond that, I don't know."

"You don't know? You know next to nothing about him, yet you readily agree to meet him in a place of his choice in an unknown city? Are you foolish or just reckless?"

"Are you saying I shouldn't trust him?" she asked while again not facing him.

"Would my opinion matter? When last we first met, it was you who admitted that you know very little about me."

The muscles around her jaw tightened ever so slightly and he could see the slight twitch of her hand on the table from his words. She suddenly clenched her hand and closed her eyes before letting out a soft sigh and finally turning to him.

"Is there something you want to say?" she asked.

Her stare was unwavering and he fought the urge to shift in his seat and look away.

"Nothing more than what has already been said."

He did not understand her presence here in the city. Even he could see that she had an aversion for the compressed squalor as much as he did, yet she chose to endure it.

"Merrill asked me to bring this over. She says it will help strengthen the muscles that had been weakened."

Fenris eyed the leather bag as if it might contain a venomous snake. He ignored it and instead reached over for a half empty bottle of wine and took a long draft. The drink was from Varric's brother's personal cellar. The dwarven wine was hardy and tart on his tongue and had a distinct mineral aftertaste that lingered in the back of his mouth.

When he placed the bottle back on the table, for the first time he caught her eyes lingering on the lyrium branded on his neck. She didn't look away when he caught her but stopped at his look of irritation.

"Why are they after you?" she asked suddenly.

"Varric hasn't told you? I find that hard to believe, the dwarf can't go five minutes without rattling off some far-fetched tale he's pulled out of thin air."

"I don't speak too often with Varric, and Merrill doesn't speak too much about you for obvious reasons," the ranger stated. Her gaze shifted to the skin of his hands that were traced with the same silver-blue markings before she spoke again. "I'm guessing it has something to do with those, doesn't it?"

Fenris felt his teeth clench. The woman's pretentiousness had reached an entirely new level. The only time he had revealed his past completely had been with Hawke and he now could see that it had been a mistake. Fenris gripped the bottle again and practically drained it of its contents.

"Varric tells me you are staying with the blood mage," Fenris mused as he tossed the empty bottle aside. "I thought rangers preferred the solitude of the woods compared to the cities."

She watched him with guarded curiosity for a few moments before replying, "I prefer the forest. However, the one here is currently infested with all matter of Imperium blood mages and slavers. And considering how I can't hunt effectively with only one hand," she said as she gestured towards the appendage, "I find my chances better here than in the forest. Either way I'll be in the company of a blood mage. I might as well be close to one who isn't going to slit my throat and drain me of my blood."

"Are you so sure she wouldn't?"

Falon stared at him intently before continuing, "Merrill's view on blood magic doesn't appear to be the same as the other mages."

Fenris scoffed, "For once, I have to agree with you. Her opinion of it is deluded as much as a small child would be playing with fire. But what difference does that make? No matter a mage's intentions, they still must strike a bargain with a demon to attain that kind of knowledge and it is only a matter of time until her own power consumes her."

He could see the muscles in her arms tighten, but instead of reaching for her knife, she grabbed a bottle of wine and a slightly clean cup. He could feel the tingling effects of the drink become stronger, but he made no attempt to suppress it. As she tipped the drink back, he spoke up.

"She must be quite a bed partner if you are so quick to defend her."

The woman chocked on her drink but managed to keep it down before turning on him.

"Just because I'm staying with her and don't have the same opinion of Merrill as you do, I must be sleeping with her? Then going by that logic, you and Varric are far closer than I first assumed."

Fenris's face was unreadable but he felt the empty bottle shatter in his grip. The cut of the glass went unnoticed when both hastened to their feet as they waited for the other to make the first move.

"You may think that I know very little, elf, but don't think to assume you understand me. You might have been tied to one those Tevinter abominations, but I've seen enough of mages and demons to give you night terrors for the rest of your days."

Fenris growled, "And what do you know of blood magic and slaves?"

"Enough not to hesitate to cut down any Imperium blood mage or their slaver dogs that have the insolence to trespass into my forest!"

The room went still. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the soft puff of air of the ranger's slightly heavy breathing. At first, she refused to yield under his stare, but ever so slowly, the fire behind her gold and green eyes began to die. The ranger's stance relaxed as she turned to the door to leave.

"This is pointless," she hissed under her breath.

And with a sharp click of the door handle, she was gone, while Fenris was left with a small crackling fire and a bloodied hand.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Falon forced herself not to slam the door behind her, but made no effort to hide her irritation from the other patrons. In truth, she was hoping one of them would dare to try and touch her again just so that she had an excuse to slam someone's head into the wall. She knew it was a bad idea to come here. She always trusted her instincts before, so why now was she ignoring them? This place rubbed her the wrong way in every possible way, yet here she was. The dwarf was tolerable enough to be around but that elf...

Falon was practically growling as she descended the staircase. The night was still young and the tavern was packed with drunken workers who had just gotten off form their shifts at the docks. The smell of brim and ale only made her want to leave the place behind even more.

"I can see someone has had a good heart-to-heart chat with our friend." Falon breathed a curse under her breath as she turned towards a nearby table tucked away in a corner. "Come take a seat," he said as he gestured towards the chair across from him.

"I'm in no mood, Varric. You wasted your chance to talk while I was up there having to endure your friend's drunken tirade. Besides, I should be getting back to Merrill."

"Yes, well, I'll have you know that I arrived shortly after you did. You two seemed to be having a rather deep discussion and I thought it would be rather rude to interrupt. As for Daisy, she should be able to stay out of trouble for at least a couple of hours. Hopefully."

Falon glared down at the smug dwarf as she considered replacing the large mannequin outside with the squat little person before her.

"Now before you finish wrapping up your plans for my painful demise," the dwarf interjected, "won't you at least hear what I have to say so your trip here won't be a total loss?"

"What do you want, Varric?" she snapped.

"Sit down and we'll discuss it. I'm a business man, Falon and this is a business opportunity, so I'm obliged to treat it as such."

Most of Varric's sarcasm had been replaced with a relatively cordial air. It helped in easing Falon's annoyance, but she was still skeptical. Reluctantly, she eased herself into the chair. Varric smiled as he raised his hand to catch the attention of the barmaid.

"Norah, two tankards of your honey mead." Once the barmaid acknowledged his order, he turned back to the woman. "So how's your stay in Kirkwall been?"

"You want to talk business, so talk," the ranger snapped.

Varric sighed as he leaned back into his chair, "So direct, and here I thought hunters were supposed to be masters of subtly."

"What do you care of hunting, dwarf?"

"I don't know, it seems like a rather useful skill. Being able to keep out of sight until just the right moment to strike. It takes a great deal of discipline, yes?"

"It's not so much as discipline as patience."

"Is that so, care to enlighten me?"

"Where's this line of questioning going, Varric?"

"Just humor me. What kind of skills does a great hunter like yourself possess?"

Falon eyed him quizzically for a moment before finally continuing, "It requires patience and being able to recognize the right opportunity to take down your prey. But a hunter needs more than patience. They need to balance flight and fight in order to survive."

"Flight or fight?"

"There's always something bigger out there or with more numbers. Knowing when to run and when to fight is just as important for survival out there than being able to kill quickly and silently."

"And is it safe for me to assume that you possess these traits, Falon?"

The ranger tapped the rough wood of the table as she leaned back in her chair.

"Are you looking for a hunter or assassin, Varric?"

Varric folded his hands across his stomach, "Maybe, maybe not, but I'm glad to see that we're on the same page."

Norah walked over and placed two large tankards in front of them. Unlike the other brews she had experienced here, this one was a rich golden color and had a sweet, hoppy scent to it.

"Drink up, Falon. This isn't the cheap stuff."

Falon sniffed the drink cautiously before taking a small sip. Varric was right, this wasn't the usual rat piss that the locals consumed by the barrel. Falon took a hearty gulp and enjoyed the way it warmed her throat and stomach on the way down.

"So say I don't necessarily need something hunted, but rather just have the reassurance that if I needed to, it would be taken care of, would you consider a hunter for the job?"

"Why not hire a bodyguard? Better yet, why not ask your foul-tempered friend. He may not be in peak condition, but he looks well enough to wield a blade now, and if anyone was itching to draw blood, he would be my first choice."

"First, I thought I throw a little work your way ever since your role with our mutual friend. Second, I like your style. Third, I am considering taking our foul-tempered friend, but I'm leaning towards the idea of having someone at my side with an even head and a fast blade. Besides, Fenris might be a little rusty what with the recently healed hole in his gut and everything."

Falon eyed the dwarf skeptically as she took another sip of her drink.

"You've never seen me fight."

"No, but Merrill was very keen on the details when it came to how you handled that mage and slavers." Varric leaned closer and dropped his voice so Falon was forced to edge closer as well. "When it comes to my line of work, I prefer those you can think on their feet and can wield an even quicker blade."

Falon didn't stop him, so the dwarf took her silence for him to continue.

"I'm asking you this, because this is somewhat of a unique circumstance. My seller won't meet in the open. Don't ask why, but I have a feeling it's something to do with our current Tevinter infestation. Either way, I have a bad feeling about it."

"Then why risk it?"

"Because, what he's selling is well worth the risk. We're supposed to meet tomorrow night at one of the warehouses alone. Now, I'm not that stupid, but if there is even a hint of danger, he'll run. So, are you interested?"

Falon considered Varric's proposition. She wasn't sure why she was even doing that. She was suppose to be laying low in this city, and tailing a dwarf on a midnight rendezvous was quite the opposite.

"Would it interest you to know," Varric said, "that this may be an opportunity for you to take out a few more of those Tevinter blood mages and their slaver dogs?"

She sneered at the dwarf's mocking tone and the fact he had heard their earlier conversation, but she couldn't deny that she wasn't somewhat interested. She told herself it wouldn't, but the idea of roaming the streets knowing she would get a chance to sharpen her blade on an enemy was a tempting offer. It was a much better idea than the other option of crossing swords with the elf. Without realizing it, her gaze had traveled towards the direction of Varric's apartments. Something that the dwarf had not missed.

"I'm not one to coddle, but considering his circumstances, perhaps you should give him some slack," he mused as he nursed his drink.

"You do realize that because of what he said, Merrill was ambushed by at least seven of those slavers."

"Daisy should have known better and things worked itself out in the end, didn't it? Besides, he's said a lot worse in the past, especially when he drinks. Frankly, I'm surprised he's this…tame after what happened."

"And what exactly did happen?"

"What do you think? The slavers finally caught up with him."

Falon snatched his cup before he could get it to his mouth and pushed it back down on the table, "Varric, you're a story teller, and this is the first time that I am actually interested in one of your tales, so tell."

"Look, this isn't one of my most favorite of stories, alright. You know most of it already: Fenris was once a slave to the magister Denarius, he escaped, and found his way to Kirkwall a little over six years ago. During that time, he met up with us and had us help him try to hunt down his former master. When things didn't turn out so well, he stuck around."

Varric sighed and rubbed the space between his eyes with his thumb. In truth, despite the Deeproads, the qunari, and Hawke's sharp tongue that always seemed to get them in trouble, those few years had been fun for him. And while the elf was as lethal and quick tempered as a rabid wolf at first, under their constant banter and joking, even he gradually seemed to become acclimated to their vicarious lifestyle.

"From that moment on," Varric continued, "every time Hawke went off on another insane errand or favor that always seemed to end in bloodshed, you know that elf was right on her heels. He even followed her down into the Deeproads with me and her younger brother."

"I thought you said that Hawke was a mage?"

"She was."

"He didn't have issues with that?"

"He did, but that's another story. Now, do you want to keep interrupting me, or would you like for me to continue?"

"Sorry, go on."

"For six years, we were all there as we watched Hawke rise from a Ferelden refugee to the Champion of Kirkwall. During that time, the elf was still being hounded by slavers, but at the same time…. What you have to understand is that because of that creepy lyrium stuff in his skin, the elf didn't really remember all of who he is. I still don't think he does. He placed a lot of trust in Hawke. Enough so that when he got word that his sister was looking for him, he asked Hawke to come with him."

Varric sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "I had always thought that the elf had a less than healthy sense of suspicion, but I guess I was wrong that day. We met her here at the Hanged Man. Her and about a dozen slave hunters and Denarius."

"They took Fenris?"

"Hmph, more like Hawke handed him over to them on a silver platter. Didn't even bat an eyelash when she did it either."

Falon gazed at the dwarf disbelievingly, "I thought you said he fought with Hawke for over six years."

"He did, saved her skin a few times two. Not to mention she kept him from making a trip to the Void on several occasions as well as help him hunt down and kill Denarius's apprentice Hadriana. And then there was the whole…"

"What?"

"Never mind, it's not important. But at least now, you understand why our broody little friend up there is so eager to take a piece out of you even if you look at him a bit awkwardly. If being hounded by slavers for years doesn't make you mad at the world, then being betrayed by your friend will certainly do it.

Falon stared into her drink. Suddenly, the sweet alcohol tasted dry and bitter.

"Yeah, I suppose it would," she said.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x 

He didn't much prefer the docks, even more so ever since the whole qunari mess and they erected that hideous statue in honor of their favorite Champion. However, as they passed the disused buildings and finally arrived at the predescribed destination, Varric shifted his focus from his surroundings and back towards the task at hand. His rain sodden cloak clung to him uncomfortably, but his companion next to him made no mention or complaint about the weather as bright eyes beneath the brim of the cloak's low hood scrutinized every shadow or other niche that might contain a rogue's daggers.

Finally, like a timid alley cat reluctant to venture into another animal's territory, a small figure emerged from the shadows of the warehouse. His companion tensed, but Varric made a reassuring gesture that all was well.

"I-I s-s-said to come a-alone, V-Varric."

"Come now, Blind-eye, only some Lowtown, back alley purse snatcher would be dumb enough to come here at night and alone. At least I had the decency to bring my friend along in plain sight."

The little man shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, "I don't h-have the l-luxury of m-m-many friends, V-Varric. Y-Y-You can understand w-w-why I'm n-nervous."

"I'm not here to go south on our deal, Blind-eye, you know me better than that. I'm just here to tie up the last remaining loose ends of our business arrangement."

The little mouse of a man eyed Varric's hooded companion nervously before slowly reaching into his tunic's pocket and producing a cylindrical, leather tube. His knobby hands trembled as he held it out to the dwarf. All the while, he never once took his eyes off the case until it rested in Varric's outstretched hand. Varric grasped the leather with a victorious glint in his eye until he realized that Blind-eye had not let go.

"T-This isn't w-what you m-might b-be expecting, Varric."

"I think I can handle myself," Varric said as he pulled at the case, but the little man still didn't let go.

"You s-s-still don't unders-s-stand. S-S-Some things, are b-better left f-f-f-forgotten."

Blind-eye finally released the leather case into Varric's care, but before the dwarf could further inquire about his mad ramblings, the door on the upper landing burst opened. With speed that a shadow would be envious of, Blind-eye fled the second he heard the creaking of the door hinges. They both turned to bolt out the way they came, but the sound of shuffling armor and blades being draw at their backs reassured them that it was no longer an option.

"Varric Tethras, fancy meeting you in a place like this. And here Meeran was saying that you didn't have the guts to venture out of Lowtown at night ever since Hawke up and flew the coop."

Varric cracked his knuckles when he recognized that voice. This wasn't good.

"Athenril," he greeted amicably as if he didn't have twelve swords and a number of daggers surrounding him, "haven't seen you around lately. How's business?"

The elvhen smuggler smirked down at him from the landing, "Poor. Even with all the guards and templars thinned thanks to your friend, I can't get my normal shipments in because of the mage's uproar in the other major cities. Suffice to say, my men and I have had to lease out our skills through other channels. Speaking of which, why don't you hand over that pretty little case there."

Varric slid the case into his belt as he crossed his arms, "I see, so you and your boys are playing fetch and pay to some high-up who's afraid to get his hands dirty."

"I prefer to think of it as a more lucrative way to retrieve lost or hard to find items. Items in which require a more subtle hand in acquiring. Now hand it over, dwarf."

Varric pulled out Bianca while his companion's sword was drawn, "Sorry, but not gonna happen."

In an instant, all amusement was gone from the smuggler's face, "Don't be stupid, it's twelve against two and we have the upper ground. Hand over the goods Varric and we'll call it a night."

He eyed the three archers flanking Athenril and the numerous men slowing encroaching on them, "You're offer's tempting. I'm going to need a moment to think about it."

Her eyes hardened, "You always were too cocky for your own good, Varric." She turned to her archers, "FI-"

The archer to her immediate right fell to his knees with a wet gasp while a black arrow sprouted from his throat. Before the smuggler could issue another order, a second arrow found its mark in-between the weak spot of the archer's armor and pierced his heart. The last archer fired blindly into the shadows until a crossbow bolt caught him in the temple. Varric aimed for Athenril, but already the rogue had disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Next to him, the gut wrenching sound of crushing bones and metal brought him back to the immediate threat of the numerous daggers at his back. Already, four men lay at Fenris's feet, but even while he engaged another two, the elf looked like he was barely breaking a sweat. Varric threw a miasma flask so as he could place himself at a more comfortable distance between him and the fray. Fenris dodged a knife that had been aiming for his neck, but not without receiving a shallow knick on the side of his head. A large pulse of lyrium erupted from his arms, and the rogue went flying across the room.

"Looks like you're still a little rusty, elf."

The warrior gave no reply as his sword came down in a sweeping arch to scatter his opponents. Meanwhile, the ranger who had secured the upper landing was steadily picking off one smuggler after another with her bow and black arrows. One threw a poison flask at her, but the ranger quickly jumped to the ground, rolled to her feet, and while still clutching the arrow in her hand, sank an arrow into her attacker's side. The skirmish had decidedly turned in their favor. Fenris dropped the last man with one quick blow, but as the dust cleared, Varric noticed the distinct absence of a certain elf; that was until he felt the sharp dagger pressed into his throat.

"Aw, shit."

"Well said," Athenril purred as she pressed her dagger deeper into his throat. "Now, drop your weapons." Varric reluctantly slid Bianca to the floor, but when he glanced back at Falon and Fenris, he grew nervous. Both were glaring at the smuggler as if they rather impale themselves on their own weapons rather than lay them down. "I said drop them, or the dwarf gets his last shave!"

Varric prayed to the Maker, the Ancestors, and just about anyone who would listen that these two wouldn't be stupid. To his utmost relief, it was Falon who was the first to drop her bow. Fenris only seemed to grip his weapon tighter. He felt the warm trickle of blood run down his neck. But the elf only lowered his weapon a fraction of an inch.

"This is my final warning," the smuggler growled.

'Dammit, Fenris. I hope you know what you're doing,' Varric thought to himself.

With their attention mostly focused on the glowering elf in front of him, neither Varric nor Athenril caught the blur of movement from their right. The next he knew, the red-haired smuggler was cursing vehemently while a sharp knife was embedded in her hand. Not one to pass up an opportunity when it presents itself, Varric slammed his elbow into Athenril's side and snatched up his Bianca as he rolled away. Doubled over and gasping for air, the elf didn't have a chance when her swift end came down on her in the form of a white-haired elf and his great sword.

While Fenris wiped the blood from his weapon, Varric hesitantly felt the still wet line of red running along his neck, "Not that I'm complaining, but that was cutting it a little close, even for us."

"You're still alive, aren't you?" the elf replied dryly.

"Yeah, well as much as it was appreciated, let's not be throwing knives around my head in the near future," he stated while glancing in the ranger's direction.

"If this is you not complaining, I wonder what it would be like if I did miss," Falon stated as she salvaged what arrows she could from the fight. She flexed her hand as a small drop of blood fell from the bandages.

"Dead, I would assume," Fenris replied.

The ranger made no reply as she shoved several arrows rather roughly into the quiver strapped to her back. Instead, she turned to Varric.

"Are we done for the night?"

"What, don't feel like celebrating a job well done with a pint at the Hanged Man?" he stated as he began leading them out of the warehouse and onto the quiet docks.

"The only place that rivals the stench of the dock's rotting fish and sewage would probably be that piss stain of a tavern that you so affectionately adore."

"So I take it we'll see you there?" Varric asked.

Falon silently shook her head and turned down a street that led towards the Alienage. Varric chuckled to himself as she watched the hooded figure disappear down the alley. Unlike the mage, he had no qualms letting the ranger venture off on her own nor did he have to go out of his way to ensure that she didn't draw the attention of some of the less reputable persons that also roamed the city at night. In the few short weeks that the woman had been here, she had gained a familiarity with the city streets that rivaled some of the more seasoned purse-snatchers. Only once or twice had his contacts mentioned seeing her on the streets at night. She was silent and inconspicuous; preferring to roam the shadowed streets at night simply because Merrill once said she enjoyed the quiet streets over the noise of the city during the day. It was then that Varric noticed that Fenris had continued on, and he had to quicken his pace to catch up.

"Well, I guess it's just you and me, elf," Varric said when he finally caught up to him.

"So it seems," Fenris replied curtly.

It was much easier to see his face at this angle. His moth-eaten cloak, a last minute suggestion from the ranger, had miraculously survived the battle. And while bloodstained and filthy now, it had done a fairly reasonable job of hiding his more noticeable features. Beneath the cloak, he once more shifted the plate pauldrons on his shoulders which he had yet grown accustomed to. The armor the dwarf had scrounged up wasn't as "decorative" as his last set had been, but it was good quality and it fit, which was hard enough with the elf being on the slightly smaller side for a warrior. It was dwarven made and like his other armor, it was fitted close to the elf's thin frame and appeared almost flimsy, but that was far from the truth. The plate was made of dark iron for the chest piece, vambracers, pauldrons, and greaves. And while it may have lacked the flashy lyrium insertions and fine-rune enhancements, some of the weaker spots that a rogue or assassin would take advantage of were reinforced with tightly woven chainmail that allowed the elf sufficient movement and mobility since he always managed to be everywhere at once during battle.

The dwarf glanced down, but it looked like besides the usually cuts and scrapes that came with every skirmish, the new armor had done its job and the elf hadn't sustained any serious injuries. He didn't even seem to be favoring his side like he had the day before. However, his usual scowl had a note worthy ire about it at the moment.

"What is it, dwarf?" Fenris asked without even turning to address him.

"You've been awfully broody tonight," Varric pointed out, "even more so than usual."

"I told you before, dwarf, I do not brood."

"Irritated, then."

Fenris was silent for almost an entire block until finally turning to the dwarf.

"You had put a lot of investment into whatever it was you just procured, am I correct." Varric nodded. "Yet you don't seem the least concerned that hirelings were sent to intercept it and kill you."

On the contrary, Varric was scared shitless. The truth of the matter was that he had no idea how his information had been leaked. The only ones that even knew about it were Blind-eye and himself. Sure, there was Blind-eye, but the man had a reputation for subtly, not to mention he had known the man since before he could aim a crossbow. Either way, someone knew about the case and was willing to pay a pretty coin for it. And with nothing to go on or knowing where to start, there was no point in making matters worse by panicking over shadows. The only thing that changed was that now he had to get his plans in motion sooner than he suspected.

So instead, he simply smiled back at the incredulous warrior, "I would think that after all these years, you would have a little more faith in me, elf. This isn't the first time I've nearly had my throat cut, and I sure hope it isn't the last."

Fenris gave him the most perplexed look, "I never figured you for the type with a death wish."

"Nothing of the sort, but as a general unspoken rule in the Merchant's Guild, the greater the risk on your life, the greater the worth of the merchandise."

"And this piece of merchandise," Fenris pointed out, "what does it contain that makes it so valuable?"

"All in good time," Varric reassured him as he patted the case stuffed securely inside one of his coat's pockets.

"And during this time, you must now be aware of the attacks from a rival merchant." They turned the corner and began ascending the stairs into Lowtown. "Clearly you've learned little in the last six years."

"No offense, but I have been playing this game longer than you have, elf."

"Which is why you…"

"Which is why I should what?" Varric asked.

He glanced behind his shoulder, but Fenris was glaring up at the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Varric had seen that look on the elf's face before and without even waiting for the elf's tirade, he drew Bianca and put his sights on the first outline he could distinguish. The elf's blade was out before he even had her up, but despite the savage string of Tevinter curses coming from the warrior, Varric felt as if he had just swallowed a cold stone. Twenty, possibly thirty figures lingered either on the rooftops or among the shadowed alleys around them.

"We just can't get a break tonight, can we?" Varric mused as he readied a bolt.

The few wearing robes didn't go unnoticed by the dwarf, nor did the one that slowly approached them with an air that reeked of a Tevinter magister. Her robes were made from a high quality material that he had only seen in the Orlesian trade and the staff she carried was inlaid with gold and other precious metals. She was tall, had pale skin, and dark red hair that matched the color that stained her lips. Her dark brown eyes regarded the both of them as if their proximity was an insult.

"Varric Tethras," she stated.

The dwarf couldn't help but questionably glance at his cloaked companion before turning back to the mage, "That depends on who is asking."

Her eyes narrowed on him, "Someone who you will do well not to cross."

"Her name is Arsinia. She's an apprentice, but the magister she's under has close ties to Denarius," Fenris growled.

It was as if she had just noticed the elf standing next to him and her eyes widened in surprise, "You! You're still alive?"

The barrier stopped the blade only a few inches from her chest. Cursing under his breath, Varric distracted the archers on the roof as Fenris turned from the mage to intercept the mercenaries on the ground. Varric dodged several arrows as he took out two more archers.

"This is bad," he said under his breath. He felt the fletching of an arrow brush the side of his face, "This is very bad."

Fenris was doing a good job holding off the close range attacks, but the strain of his earlier battle and injuries were showing. For every one he fell, they were pushed back another foot. To make the situation worse, on the edge of the fray, the mage had dropped her barrier. Fire was dancing around her feet and hands and Varric only had enough time to shout a warning before the blast came at them. Varric threw up his arms in a futile attempt to shield his face seconds before the thunderous impact.

He was knocked on his back and was vaguely aware that he wasn't in anywhere near enough pain after being hit with a fireball. He smelled singed hair, but the lack of burning flesh and blood was a welcomed yet confusing relief.

"Varric, are you alright?"

His eyes focused to the glorious sight of Merrill with her staff in hand and standing behinds a wall of ice.

"Considering how I am not well-done at the moment, I'm fine. Thanks, Daisy." Varric rolled to his feet. "Now, let's wrap this up quick. There's still a drink at the Hanged Man with my name on it."

Using Merrill's shield of ice as cover, she and Varric fired arrows and spells on their opponents while Fenris streaked across the field falling one opponent after another. It wasn't until they had taken out more than half of the mercenaries that Varric noticed the black figure skirting on the edge of battle and slicing down men with quick, deadly strikes.

"Falon, behind you!" Merrill shouted.

The ranger only had enough time to leap to the side as the fire engulfed the area where she had been fighting moments before. Still smoking, the ranger surged forward, dodging attacks and arrows until she had closed the distance between her and the mage.

"I'll hold her," Falon shouted back at them as her sword caught the mage's staff, "finish off the rest."

Varric didn't need to be told twice. He pulled back on Bianca's trigger until it clicked twice, angled her at just the right spot, and let her do her thing. The next moment, arrows rained down on the mercenaries either wounding or killing them. One of the swordsmen broke off from the rest and charged them. Before he even raised his sword, Bianca's bayonet had pierced his throat and Varric was already searching for his next target. A huge blast of lyrium engulfed the street and sent the last remnants of the slavers flying into the walls.

"Say what you will, we still get results," Varric shouted over the chaos.

The agonized scream quickly doused his light-hearted banter. He turned to see the ranger convulsing on the ground while the mage stood above her while a steady stream of blood poured from her hands in an eerie red light. Every time Falon would attempt to rise, the mage clenched her hands and the ranger's cries rang anew.

He fired a bolt straight at the mage's heart, but she knocked it away with a mind blast spell. He cocked another arrow and prepared to fire again, but Fenris jumped in his line of fire as he attempted to take the mage's head. The barrier came up once more and he could hear Fenris practically growl in annoyance. Blue and black flames began to flicker around Merrill and then suddenly engulfed the ground around the Imperium mage's feet. The barrier flickered and died as the mage staggered back.

"Now, while her magic's gone!" Merrill shouted.

Before the words completely left Merrill's mouth, he lined up his shot and fired his bolt straight into the mage's forehead. Her mouth was still moving as she fell to her knees before finally keeling over. Merrill quickly ran towards the fallen ranger, but already the woman was stirring and struggling to get to her feet. Even Fenris spared her a quick glance before turning back towards the dead blood mage.

"Fucking bitch," the woman growled under her breath as she finally got to her feet. She staggered, but Merrill caught her before she could fall back down.

"I've never seen blood-magic like that. What did she do?" the mage asked as Falon leaned against her.

Falon grunted, "I don't know, but the second she cut me it felt like my blood was on fire."

The ranger clutched her upper arm where a long gash ran from her shoulder almost to her elbow.

"That doesn't look too good," Daisy said as she placed a gentle hand near the wound. "Here, let me see." And she slowly began peeling back the cloth.

Falon jerked away and turned her shoulder away from the mage, "It's not as bad as it looks. I can take care of it. It was the magic she was using on me that caused the pain."

"Blood-magic is not only practiced openly in Tevinter, but the more powerful one is with it, the more status they obtain," Fenris mused as he searched the mage's corpse. "It shouldn't come as a surprise that they are able to devise new and more potent ways to rip apart a body."

Unlike earlier, Fenris was sporting a rather large gash above his eye and his recently bound side was now steadily leaking blood. However, the elf acted as if nothing was wrong. He wasn't even breathing heavily.

"Perhaps we should wrap things up in someplace where there are less bodies and we aren't all drenched in blood," Varric suggested.

The elf ignored him and continued searching the mage's pockets.

"He's right, Fenris," Falon added. "We're in no condition to take on any scavengers coming out of the wood-work or the city guard for that matter."

"Then limp back to the hovel you share with the blood mage," Fenris snapped. "No one asked for your assistance."

"_You_ didn't ask for my help, Varric did. And if I had waited every time for you to actually ask, you would have long since been dead."

Fenris stood and rounded on the ranger. Not in the least intimidated by the elf, Falon pulled away from Merrill and met his challenge.

"As I recall, you were the one at the mage's mercy just now."

"And as I recall, it was Varric and Merrill who took her out. You couldn't even get one hit in."

Fenris began to glow as he took a step towards her, but Falon held her ground. Both looked ready to pounce until a bolt embedded itself in the ground near their feet.

Varric tsked, "I really can't take the two of you anywhere, can I?"

Fenris sneered, "This is hardly the time for jokes, dwarf. You aren't the least bit concerned that you're being pursued by Imperium agents?"

Falon eyed him skeptically as Fenris held out a piece of parchment to Varric, "Are you saying they weren't here for you this time?"

Varric glanced over it, "I can't read Arcanum."

"You don't have to," Fenris stated. "Look at the seal at the bottom of the page. I'm unfamiliar with it. If she had been sent by my former master, she would be carrying some form of missive of his. But the only seal she has is this one."

"And you don't think that we might be jumping to conclusions here? Just because she wasn't expecting you doesn't mean they came here for me."

"You heard her, dwarf. She believed me dead. Do you think she was sent to chase a ghost?"

"Well technically you do possess some rather ghostly abilities what with the whole passing through solid objects thing."

Fenris looked ready to stab him in the chest with said ability until Falon spoke up, "It does make you wonder though, doesn't it Varric?"

"How so?"

"The same night you finally get your hands on that leather case you get ambushed by two groups. I don't know much about your trade, but even to me that's significant."

"You didn't come across one of those books like Isabela did, did you Varric?" Merrill asked.

"Great flaming nugs, no! Look, I'll be more than happy to explain this in detail, but I rather do it somewhere where we won't get ambushed for a third time tonight."

"Very well, we'll regroup at the Hanged Man," Fenris stated.

Falon shook her head, "As tempting as that offer it, Varric, I'm going to have to decline."

"Aw come on. It's not like one drink is going to kill you. Three maybe, but definitely not one."

"It's not the drinks in your city I'm worried about," she said as she glanced over the bloodied street. "I've had enough surprises for one night." She began head towards the western side of Lowtown, "Good night."

"Do you think she'll be alright on her own?" Merrill asked as they watched her descend the stairs that led towards the Alienage.

"To be honest, Daisy, I would be more concerned for the person unfortunate enough to run into her."

As they began to make their way to the Hanged Man, the warrior still lingered, watching the ranger until she had disappeared into the shadows.

"You coming, elf?"

"How certain are you that you were not duped, dwarf?"

"Look, double crossing and back-stabbing is second nature in this game, but my contact tonight doesn't play that, not with me. He's the same one that kept tabs on Bertrand during that whole mess a few years ago, and he was the same one that helps me keep track of the other groups that are affiliated in such matters." The elf still stared disapprovingly at the darkened alleys. "He wasn't behind this."

"Then it remains to be seen who was."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x 

Blind-eye sprinted and darted down the narrow alleyways as fast as his crippled legs would allow him. His trail wove a path through the city to the point that even a fox would be envious of it. Even as his sides were aching and knees were beginning to burn, he refused to stop, not until he was sure he could reach his safe house with none the wiser. It was mere hours before dawn until Blind-eye finally approached the ramshackled little hut. He reached for the door until a set of hideously sharp teeth grabbed him from behind and threw him against the rough stone wall.

Blind-eye cried out as he felt the bones in his arm crack but didn't waste any time fawning over it as he scrambled to get to his feet. The beast came at him again, this time latching onto his broken arm and flinging him across the alley. He rolled several times when he hit the hard ground and did not attempt to rise. He couldn't feel his legs.

Helpless, he watched the creature stalk towards him with cloudy white eyes. It had a head reminiscent of a dog, but that was where the similarities ended. It was at least twice the size of a mabari. Its sinuous body had not a trace of muscle, only black, leathery skin stretched across sharp protruding bones. It's hand-like claws were incredibly long and left deep cuts in the stone as it prowled ever closer. Its long, dragon like tail switched back and forth as the barbs on the end struck the stone with a rhythmic click.

"Inshunni."

The beast instantly stilled, but continued to stare hungrily at him with its dead eyes. Without warning, it turned and bounded back to the side of a hooded figure where two more of its kin patiently waited. The creature growled low in its throat as the person gently petted its grotesque head.

"You found him. Well done."

It sounded like a man's voice, but the very sound of it inspired more fear than the demonic hound which had almost ripped him to pieces just now. There was no gravely or hoarse tones to it, it wasn't even that deep, but the way he spoke so casually to these creatures denoted that this man was not unfamiliar with blood.

Blind-eye flinched when he realized that the man and his three hounds were slowly approaching him. Soon, he was standing over him, his face shrouded in the shadow of his hood.

"Burslin Arltruran, also known as Blind-eye?"

Blind-eye's one good eye widened in shock. Almost no one knew his real name, not even some of his oldest clients. How did this man know…unless?

"I-I h-h-have no q-quarrels with a-any m-mages or-or-or temp-plars. P-Please l-let me g-g-go."

"Oh, I know you have nothing to do with the Circle or its Templars, Serah Blind-eye." One of the creatures snapped its jaws just inches from his face before its master waved it away. "But I do know that you are quite skilled in procuring rare items. Especially those of an antiquity and arcane nature."

"Yes, M-M-Messer, I d-d-do. B-But I find and r-r-r-research them, t-that's all!"

"Yes, I know that. I also know that you came across a rather…unusual find. You're last three accounts denied you coin to search for it, that is until a little over seven years ago." Blind-eye gasped as the man kneeled down and reached for his scared face. "Who did you give it to?"

"P-Please, you d-d-don't understa-"

Needles made of hot iron seemed to be shooting into his blind eye. He tried to scream but a force was pressing down on his throat refusing to allow his cries to pass.

"I will ask again. If I have to ask a third time, I will remove that pustule that you call an eye. Now, who did you give it to?"

Blind-eye hesitated, but as he mage's hand came down again, he broke.

"T-T-T-Tethras! V-Varric T-Tethras!"

"Varric Tethras? Sounds dwarven."

"P-P-Please, the m-man is a g-g-good merchant. W-Whatever y-you think h-he's done…"

From beneath the mage's hood, Blind-eye could see the flash of white teeth and for some reason, that scared him more than the beasts that prowled at his feet, "It isn't about what he has done, serah. It's about what you know and what you've given him so far. Now, what else do you know about him?"

Painstakingly, the mage pulled out every bit of information he had on the merchant. Everything from his past dealings in different cities to his most recent exploits involving the Champion. The dwarf was always one you liked to have on your side and one that he had known for far longer than most could make it in this trade. Varric was a skilled merchant, ten times better than his father, but one that didn't spit in your face and didn't mind getting his hands dirty. They were getting rare these days and now, there looked like there was going to be one less more. Much to the shame of Blind-eye's cowardly heart.

"Is that all?"

"Y-Yes, now will you p-p-please let m-me go?"

The mage rose and turned to leave.

"Inshunni, bring him."

"W-W-What! No, p-p-please no!" The creature snatched him up from his middle and already he could feel the drops of blood pool beneath its sharp teeth. "I told y-you e-e-everything I k-knew!"

"Yes, but unfortunately, it is everything that I already know. And soon, you are going to tell me everything that you know about the item in question."

As the mage turned and the creature began to follow with him in tow like a fresh kill, Blind-eye swore he saw a flash of crimson right where the man's eyes should have been.

* * *

**A/N:**I know, I'm sorry, I really liked Fenris's armor in the game too, especially his gauntlets, he had the whole ring-wraith looking thing going on, but for the life of me, I couldn't really find a way to write it in the story. I mean seriously, what are you going to do once you capture a bad-ass fighter like that: take away his armor, his sword, and hide every possible potential weapon in close proximity…including the spoons.

Anyway, thanks to all who took the time to review and if you have a second, I would love to hear your feedback. Until next time!


	7. A Modest Proposal

A/N: Bioware owns everything. I scrounge what I can from imagination and twisted plot devices.

* * *

The hour of departure has arrived and we go our ways; I to die, and you to live. Which is better? Only God knows.

~Socrates

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"Look dwarf, I'm not doing it for anything less than seventy sovereigns."

For a moment, Varric thought the cankerous captain had drunk one to many pints of sea water, "For seventy sovereigns I could sail from here to Minrathous with a ship that doesn't look like it would founder with next gust of wind!"

"Then go take that one," the gap-toothed smuggler spat. "That's my terms, take 'em or leave 'em."

Varric rubbed the stubble on his chin as he looked over the old man's boat. It wasn't anything impressive, certainly not for the price this heckler was asking for, but it was available now and would be able to go in a couple of days. The single mast sloop at least looked fast, which was good, and it was small enough that it could easily be handled by only a few men. The dwarf grudgingly reached into his coat and pulled out a small coin bag.

"Here's a third," he said as he tossed the old man the coin. "Have her ready by tomorrow and you'll get another. I'll pay the rest when you get us to port, considering your boat doesn't sink halfway there."

The old smuggler chuckled and stashed the coin purse into his sash, "Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Master Dwarf. The Eel is more than she looks."

"Let's hope it's a lot more," Varric said as he left for the Hanged Man.

As he made his way through the docks, he couldn't help but constantly check behind his shoulder. He was being paranoid, he knew, but not without reason. The last time he felt this nervous was right before the shit hit the ceiling with the templars and mages, and he be damned if he got caught up in that kind of mess again.

He had gotten word that some of the other merchants in the Merchant's Guild had gotten wind of his findings. It wouldn't be something to take notice about, but after his success in the Deeproads years, back, Varric realized he was gathering some unwanted attention from the guild's more "enthusiastic" members. It didn't help matters for them to know that mages were also somehow involved with his findings.

The Carta was always on the tip of someone's tongue, but once words such as Crow were dropped, Varric felt it was high time to put his venture into motion and quickly. The only problem was his obvious lack of manpower at the moment. Just as he turned the corner, he spotted a flash of green and brown amongst the sandstone docks.

"Daisy?"

The elf quickly turned and seemed somewhat relieved to see him.

"Varric, what a nice surprise."

"What brings you down here?" he asked.

"Nothing, really. I was just going for a walk and got a bit turned around."

"What, no ball of twine?"

"I…uh, seemed to have misplaced it."

Merrill fell in step beside him and kept pace as he led her back towards the entrance to Lowtown.

"How's your new tenant working out?" he asked.

"Tenant? Oh, you mean, Falon. She's well, or at least she was the last I saw her. She hasn't returned since that night she did that job for you."

"Daisy, that was two days ago."

"Yes, well, she does that every now and then. I don't think she's getting use to so many people in one place. For a time, we stayed close to one another, you know, going to the market, gathering herbs every now and then in the forest, fighting bandits and thugs in the back alleys at night."

"Sounds like some real good female bonding time."

"Yes, well, I must have done or said something, because I haven't seen her. Maybe she's had enough of the city. I know how difficult it was for me when I first came here. There were times when I felt like the walls were suffocating me and all I wanted was to run back to the safety of the trees." She had a far way look on her face. It wasn't something he had seen in a long time, and he felt a pang of pity for her. "I bet the Sawtooth Oaks are just about to bloom right now."

"Have you ever thought of leaving, Daisy?"

"Why would I want to do that? Where would I even go?"

Varric hitched Bianca up on his shoulder as they ascended the steps up into Lowtown.

"Where would you want to go?"

Merrill toyed with a piece of braided cord that was tied around her wrist. On it were small pieces of bone and a ring woven into it.

"Now that the Blight is over, I would like to go back to Ferelden. I don't think it would be so bad in their Alienages, not with an elf as their Hero."

"You want to go to another Alienage? Why not just find another clan?"

Merrill shook her head, "I couldn't do that, not after… Well, just no."

Varric and Merrill walked in silence for several blocks until eventually finding their way into the Lowtown marketplace.

"You know," he began, "I've never heard too many of your stories. I think I could count on one hand all the ones you've told."

"Well, they're not as colorful as yours, Varric. They're mostly just stories the Dalish tell so we don't forget them."

"Still, you should come over tonight and we'll exchange tales. You never know, it could inspire me to write a whole new book."

"I don't think Fenris would appreciate me being there."

"You let me worry about the elf. Besides, now that he no longer has a gaping hole in his side, he spends his evenings anywhere but the Hanged Man now."

The mage considered his words for a moment before giving a quick nod.

"Alright, it would be nice to catch up. I will see you later this evening then."

"Until then," Varric replied.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Across the table, Fenris drew another card before calling. Varric made an effort to glance at his hand and then quickly folded. For the third time in a row, the elf took the pot.

"Damn, from what I remember, you weren't too good at this."

"I disagree. I was always good, you just constantly cheated."

The dwarf glanced at the clock on the mantel as he shuffled the deck. They had been playing for a couple of hours, but already Fenris had more than half his gold and they had gone through two bottles of his Blancor 3:14. Varric didn't care too much about it, though. The elf was always a coin flip when he drank, but the game and his current luck seemed to have put him in a relatively good mood. Well, at least a good mood for him. Just as he finished dealing out their next hand, there was a tentative knock on his door.

"It's opened," he called without looking away from his hand. He was almost positive who was at the door, but Fenris confirmed it when the door opened and his usual scowl was put back into place as the visitor walked in.

"Daisy, good of you to stop by. Pull up a chair," Varric said as he turned in his seat to greet her.

She looked like a deer caught in a snare form the way her eyes shifted from the brooding elf and then back to him.

"No, I think perhaps I'll come back-"

"Nonsense," he said in his most charming tone. He got up and ushered her to the chair next to him and set a cup before her. He had hoped that the ranger would have accompanied her, but perhaps it would work out better this way. She took a sip of her drink, but then placed her hands in her lap as she studied the contents of her cup.

Varric didn't need to know why. As soon as she entered the room, the temperature seemed to drop and it was all stemming from the white-haired elf sitting across the table. Thankfully, Fenris's attention had shifted onto him and there was no mistaking that ominous glare. The dwarf forgot how scary the elf could be sometimes.

"So Varric, what were you doing at the docks today?"

Varric inwardly cringed. Merrill always had a knack for bad timing, but he guessed this was probably the best approach. Better to get it all out in the open now, than have the elf lose what little patience he had left.

"I was securing a ship," Varric replied.

The mage tilted her head ever so slightly, "You're leaving?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"In the next day or two, if my captain doesn't die of old age during that time."

"Where are you going?"

Varric took another drink of his wine before setting it down. He glanced over to Fenris and made sure he had his full attention before continuing.

"That's what I wanted to discuss with you."

He got up and walked to the fireplace. Both elves watched as he pushed on the side of the wood and a hidden compartment snapped open. He reached inside and pulled out a long leather cylindrical case.

"Do you remember our little encounter with those mages the other night, the same night when I got this?" Merrill nodded while Fenris merely took another draft of the wine. "Ever since the Deeproads and Bertrand's…mishap with the idol, I've been doing some research."

"That was a few years ago, Varric."

"It's been a lot of research, which as it turns out, could be exceptionally fruitful."

Varric pushed the various contents of the table aside as he carefully set the leather cylinder down. He opened it and pulled out an ivory scroll case. He slowly unrolled it before them to reveal an ancient, yellowed parchment. Merrill was the first to gain an interest as she caught sight of the old lettering and landmarks splayed across the paper.

"Don't tell me you've planned another Deeproads expedition," Fenris said.

"Not quite," Varric explained. "They are no tunnels or Deeproads this time, but this is no less profitable."

"This is a map of the Dales that leads into the Arbor Wilds," Merrill breathed. "These couldn't possibly exist, could they?" Her fingers ghosted over the yellow parchment as her lips silently mouthed parts of the language written on the side. Finally she was able to tear herself away from it. "This map leads to Dalish ruins I haven't even heard about before. How…How did you find this?"

"Like I said, Daisy. Lots of research and the gold helped out a bit too."

"So what is the point in showing us this?" Fenris stated.

Before Varric could even open his mouth, Merrill excitedly exclaimed, "What do you mean, 'what's the purpose'? Fenris, these ruins lie in the heart of the Arbor Wilds. Think of what we could find, think of what we could learn for our people."

Fenris didn't regard her as he continued to nurse his wine, "Just as eager as ever to go chasing after ghosts and shadows."

In a rare display of frustration, Merrill's little hands balled into fists as her cheeks turned slightly pink.

"It's better that I'm chasing after my past rather than running form it!"

Varric was only just able to pull the mage away and place himself in between the two elves. The lyrium along Fenris's arms were glowing dangerously and the dwarf swore he could feel the prickle of magic form the fearful mage behind him.

"Now hold on a minute! I asked the both of you to come because I have a proposition, not because I wanted to spend the day getting bloodstains out of the wood."

The elf made no reply, but the glow seemed to dim just slightly.

"What do you mean, Varric?"

When he was sure that the warrior wasn't close enough to the mage, he stepped back and picked up the map.

"I'll be the first to say it, whether we want to hear it or not. Hawke's presence benefited each of us in some way over the first few years." Fenris scoffed at his words, but he continued. "But in the end, she left us high and dry. I'll admit, if it wasn't for her, I would probably be just bits of bones the darkspawn would pluck from their teeth, but at the very end, it was every man for himself. And not to sound too ungrateful, but that Seeker was able to track me down rather quickly.

"And Merrill, where else were you expected to go? Hawke said so herself that she would be responsible for you, that she would keep an eye out for you, yet where is she now? And Fenris…Fenris of all of us, you deserve the first go at Hawke, but that isn't my point right now."

"And what is your point, dwarf?" the warrior barked back.

"We take the ship to Ferelden. We go to these ruins and we come back with a finding of the century."

"You are putting a lot of faith into a crumpled piece of parchment and a bunch of decrypt old stones," the warrior replied.

"You see that's where you're wrong. I'm going by my gut instincts, and so far they've not let me down yet."

"No, they've only failed you when you placed your trust in a two-faced mage."

"Alright, you've got a point elf, but even if this expedition is a failure, would it really be that bad for you?"

"What are you getting at?"

"Is is really that hard of a concept to get through that broody little head of yours? I'm asking for your sword in exchange for a free trip across the Waking Sea. Not only would they have harder time tracking you, but there's a great advantage with safety in numbers. At the very least you wouldn't have to sleep with one eye opened."

Fenris stood there silently, his features completely unreadable to the dwarf. Varric regretted mentioning Hawke, but it was too late now and cursed under his breath when the elf turned to the door. But then suddenly, the elf stopped and rounded back on the two of them.

"And who would you have guide us? The Dalish blood mage?" he snapped as he gestured to Merrill. "She gets disoriented if she's in Hightown after dark."

"I think he's right, Varric. I can only translate so much of this and I've never been west of the Frostback Mountains."

"Then it's fortunate that we all know a mutual acquaintance that might be familiar with those lands."

"You don't know that," said Fenris.

"I know enough of Ferelden dialect to know she has spent more time south of the Waking Sea than you or I." Fenris made no reply. Even Merrill eyed him doubtfully. "She's a ranger! How often does one fall into someone's lap? If she can't get us through a forest, then what better option do you suggest?"

"She is very comfortable in the woods," Merrill added. "Even if she hasn't been there before, she at least could find our way back."

"So, are you in?"

"Yes," Merrill replied after only a moment's hesitation.

Varric turned to Fenris. He had not moved from his spot by the door and his expression had changed little. He glared at the mage as if she were the cause of his current dilemma before suddenly cursing in Arcanum and walking back to the table.

"This is a foolish endeavor, but when have I ever heeded such details before?"

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

It had taken her much longer than she had first assumed to track down her contact. Not for the first time did she miss Varric. The dwarf could be long winded at times, but Maker if he wasn't skilled in what he did. There were moments in Lowtown and along the Wounded Coast when Hawke was hard pressed not to believe that Varric didn't have connections in almost everything that was going down in Kirkwall.

Hawke pushed the traitorous thoughts away for what felt like the hundredth time. The pang in her chest was turning into a dull ache, and the more she thought of her old life back in Kirkwall, the more it grew. Better to just bury it for now, forget as much as she could and focus on her business here.

She gave a sharp whistle and the mabari only a few paces away looked up from the pile of trash he had been nosing around in.

"For the last time, Garm, get your head out of the trash and pay attention."

The mabari lowered his head in apology and quickly returned to his person's side. Hawke couldn't help but smirk at the overgrown lout and nudged his shoulder to show there were no lasting qualms. They began walking down the alley again only for a few moments until the mabari was once more investigating another pile of garbage.

Hawke shook her head and continued on. He would catch up eventually. It probably would have been better if she had left Garm back with Anders. But after nearly ten years of having some kind of companion shadow her steps as she carved a living out of Lowtown, the idea of roaming these streets utterly alone didn't sit well with her. It seemed better to at least have a familiar face with her, even if it was half buried in filth most of the time.

Hawke rounded another corner and finally came upon what she had been looking for. It was a ramshackled little house, no different than the hundreds of others that were squeezed and stacked upon one another here. The only reason this one stood out from the others was the nearly invisible glyph that was carved at the base of the beaten up door frame. It was a jagged circle that was reminiscent of the sun with a trident like symbol spearing it through the center and pointing down.

She eased opened the door which did so quietly and much to her surprise. Inside the apartment, the smell of decay hit her nose while what little furniture was inside looked to have been gnawed on through the years by rats and other pests. She and Garm slowly prowled deeper into the small dwelling as she tried to find some trace of what she was looking for.

"Hmm. There's at least an inch of dust on everything here except the floor." Her dog gave an approving growl as he went to work scenting the rest of the room. It wasn't until he reached the back wall that he stepped back and gave a low ruff. "Good dog."

Hawke went down on her knees and ran her deft fingers over the splintering wood of the wall. She rapt a few times, but there was no sound indicating it was hallow. It wasn't until Garm began scratching at the chipping floorboards did she realize she was looking in the wrong place. She instantly saw the hinges that had been so cleverly hidden and pried the trap door back with her fingertips. Once opened, the tiny set of stairs was only wide enough to let one walk abreast and offered no light as you went down. That is, if you weren't a mage.

Hawke produced a small flame in the palm of her hand as her mabari took point and led them down into the darkness. This time, the squeaking of the wood sounded deafening while the bright light of her fire wasn't making it any easier to peer beyond it. She considered snuffing the flame when the click of a crossbow caused her to almost freeze in mid-step.

"That's far enough."

'Balls…'

Garm snarled at the shadows just beyond her sight, but stayed by her side. She realized she was only two short steps from being on level ground and pushed her luck by slowly easing down them.

"I said that's far enough, mage, or would you like a bolt through your forehead. They aren't as flashy as the lightning your kind throw around, but it gets the job done all the same."

She smirked at the comment, "Speaking of jobs, I _am_ expected you know?"

"Are you now?"

"Look, I don't have the time for a noonday chat. Just tell Castillion that I'm here."

There was a muffled grunt from the shadows, "I thought Castillion was done taking jobs from mages."

"That isn't my problem. Our business has never reached a conclusion, so it is far from done."

Garm added another subtle growl, but the guard didn't retreat. Instead, he struck some flint and ignited a lantern nearby. It was then Hawke realized he was not alone. A boy, perhaps no more than ten summers, stood nervously by his side as he clutched a small dagger at his hip.

With his crossbow still partially aimed at her, he kicked the boy in the leg, "Go tell the boss he has a guest."

With nothing more than a muffled grunt, the youth scurried away down a hallway. He returned after a few moments, stared at Hawke, and then nodded to his older companion.

The guard with the crossbow spat and then nodded to the door behind him, "This way."

She followed, but not before making sure there weren't any other henchmen looming in the dark corners. Garm gave a hollow huff from behind. That at least reassured her she wasn't going to get a dagger in the back.

The guard took her down the narrow hallway that was puckered with other doorways with no doors. A few of them had tattered pieces of material nailed to the doorframe in a meager attempt of some form of privacy. Hawke glanced into a few of them, but they contained little more than a few pieces of abandoned bits of furniture and objects. In one, it looked to be a holding place for cargo.

Finally, they reached the end of the hallway and took a right and were immediately stopped by a heavy, iron-braced door. The guard gave three solid knocks and a familiar voice inside bade them to enter. The guard opened the door and held it for her.

A large desk took up the majority of the back of the room. The floor here wasn't dirt but stone. Candles and brackets kept the darkness at bay and even seemed to chase away the dampness, but there was no hiding that ever looming tension that came when entering a slaver's den. A few bookcases filled with what looked like ledgers took up the wall to her left while a partially closed door on the right wall hinted of another set of rooms.

"Champion," a heavily accented, sultry voice drawled from behind the desk. "You're late. By about three months, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. But you were warned of this scenario." She eyed the two shadowy figures looming in the back, but focused on Castillon himself. He leaned back into his chair as the door opened and had been continuously smiling at her the entire time. Though, the Antivian could take his charming smile and go eat cow shit for all she cared.

"Yes, you made that very clear."

"So it is safe to assume that nothing has been 'misplaced'," she replied evenly.

Without another word as he eyed her large dog, he threw a tattered bag onto the table, "The documents you requested. As well as papers for passage to Seheron, per your request."

"And lodging?"

"The funds you gave me quickly ran out after procuring the first two on your list. Even then, I was pinching coins. Count yourself lucky you were able to get that."

"Fine, we weren't intending to stay here long anyways," she replied and quickly stuffed the papers into a pocket inside her robes. She eyed the doorway that led to the other rooms expectantly, but did not reveal more than that. On the inside, she wanted to shout at the oily captain to hurry up and open the door, but when he just sat there, she tried to deny that ever growing lump of cold that was settling in her stomach. "Well?" she finally snapped.

Castillon rose as his fingertips remained settled on the desk, "Well, you see my dear Champion, there have been a few complications."

Hawke felt the ire in her rise, it was better than the debilitating grief that was threatening to strangle her, but she couldn't very well obliterate this vermin on the spot. Not right now at least. Not without answers.

"I told you that the mage was coming to take him," in a controlled voice that surprised even her. "I told you when they were leaving, when to intercept the ship. I practically handed them to you. All you needed was to rush in and take him."

"And the hurricane had other ideas, Champion. I'm good, but I wasn't about to risk my crew and boat over one slave," she slaver explained as he got up and poured himself a drink from a crystal bottle. When he returned, he sat a snifter down in front of Hawke, "You paid me to intercept the ship and retrieve your cargo from its hold, not at the bottom of the ocean. You can't hold me accountable for any unforeseen tragedies that occur such as this."

"Unforeseen tragedies?" Hawke echoed. Before any of Castillon's man could react, she blew the slaver back against the wall and pinned him there with the sharpened end of her staff, "Did you even search the wreckage or did you just pluck the magister from the water the moment you saw him floundering? Just how much did you get for you timely rescue?"

Garm held the others at bay by the door, but Castillon's hand went up to signal to his man to stay where he was. The slaver even had the gall to sneer at her while still trapped by her staff.

"Enough to make up for a blotched deal, Champion or should I say Hawke?" he replied with an equally venomous tone. "I'm not too sure if such a title holds merit, at least not in these lands."

She jabbed him in the chest again if only to wipe that smirk off his face. "Where is he?"

"The mage?" She stabbed him again and saw a splash of red begin to pool at the base of her staff. "You don't get it, do you? The storm shattered the ship against the rocks. The only reason we were able to retrieve the mage was because he and another used their magic to stay above the water long enough. Even then, they were half dead."

"You still haven't anwsered me," she replied coldly. "Did you even look?"

Castillon scoffed, "Woman, even the rats didn't survive."

There was a moment where everything, the room, Garm, the slavers, all of it, appeared to be shrinking away. Instead, there was just the rush of blood in her ears that sounded like the wind screaming at her. Her own heartbeat felt as if it was pummeling her chest from the inside out. All the while, her lungs were screaming at her to breathe, to take in something, but she had forgotten how.

Maker…what had she done?

The click of metal brought her crashing back to reality. Years of honing her instincts made her drop to her knee, releasing the slaver but avoiding the bolt. It found Castillon in the arm instead. She glanced behind her and saw the guard reloading for another shot, but Garm had seized him by the elbow and was already dragging him to the ground. With him distracted, she rounded on Castillon.

The slaver had retrieved his sword as well as a dagger in that brief expanse of time.

She had always liked experimenting with spells and combined with her affinity to primal magic, she was adapt at twisting and shaping the elements in new ways.

This time was no different.

She had learned long ago that all the fluids and liquids inside a person's body were just as malleable as the ice and fire she was so quick to harness.

Her eyes narrowed on the slaver as she concentrated. There was a moment of confusion for him, but too late did he realize what she was doing. He lunged forward in a last ditch effort to land a blow, but his legs were unresponsive. His foot moved only a few inches before lurching to a stop. Even his arms were useless. Hawke continued to concentrate and watched as his pallor became paler and paler. Even his last breath was little more than vapor when his core finally froze over and his lungs became solid.

When she was done, the room was utterly silent except for Garm's soft pants and the crackle of frozen flesh coming from Castillon's frozen corpse. He was still upright. A frozen statue. But as the surge of adrenaline abated after their battle, that same hollow feeling slowly began to consume her again. She glared at her work.

Magic. It could be used in so many ways to rend, tear, and destroy a body. And she had always been curious of its limitations. Had wondered how far she could push a spell. How it could be warped and used in other ways. But she had never used it like that…until now. She had never wanted _him_ to see her use it like this.

She gripped her staff until the metal inlaid in the wood began to cut her hand and with an enraged cry, she brought her staff down onto the remains of the slaver and shattered it.

Garm growled behind her and she turned from Castillon's remains to raise her staff against the huddled form of the youth from before as a plume of fire ignited in her other hand. The boy's face was eerily passive. For all she knew, this was an everyday occurrence for him like it had been for her back in Kirkwall. The only tell that he gave that he was even remotely scared was his hand as he clutched his knife. His knuckles were white.

But that dagger was still in his hand. His eyes were deadly focused on her every move. How could she tell what he was truly thinking? How could she predict what he would do next? If she let him go, would he just hide in the shadows and strike then? Would he wait until her back was turned to drive the knife home?

'Am I really considering this?'

She threw the fire into the stone wall with a shout and then rounded on the youth.

"Get out!"

Not waiting to see if she would change her mind, he bolted from the corner like a routed hare and disappeared.

She didn't quite remember how she left after that. Perhaps it had been Garm. Maybe she was just well versed in being able to retrace her steps. Whatever it was, she only knew that in that expanse of time, all she could think of was him…and what she had done.

This…this was her fault.

As twisted and warped as her means were, her intention had been the driving force.

She had been a coward, she knew, but she could not find any other another choice. Anders was losing a part of himself every day. Her brother and her mother…gone. She knew that it was only a matter of time until it was finally all going to come crashing down around them. And then Anders made sure that it did.

But just when she thought she had anticipated everything, when she had thought she had finally navigated past these treacherous waters, she once more found herself floundering.

* * *

Hey everyone, so I've been contemplating future chapters and from the way it's looking, I may have to bump up the rating due to violence, gore, language, ect. So this is just a heads up and the rating will be applied to the appropriate chapter when it comes out. I'll make sure to point out the change at the beginning of said chapter.

Beyond that, thanks for all who reviewed. See ya next time!


	8. Deep Breath

A/N: All rights are rights of Bioware. Everything else is mine. Enjoy.

* * *

For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.

~Rudyard Kipling

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The small house was dark and the embers in the pit were relatively cool. Falon was slightly curious why Merrill would be gone so early in the morning, but she quickly pushed the thought aside. Merrill was a grown enough and the elf rarely pestered her on her nightly walkabouts. Why should she pry into the mage's affairs? She quickly went through the house and retrieved her few meager belongings. When she was finished, she allowed herself a small respite as she sat in front of the dying fire. But if she was truly being honest with herself, she only came back just to see the mage one last time.

She admitted, in the short time she had been here, the mage had grown on her. Perhaps it was her extensive knowledge of her clan's lore or just her lack of social graces that were worse than even her own, but she liked the elf. Even the dwarf was amusing to be around, despite his horrible taste in taverns. But once her thoughts strayed to the white-haired elf, she quickly shouldered her things and left.

And this was why she needed to leave. Even with the current company she was keeping and their affinity at attracting danger, life inside these walls was too confining, too stoic. And she was becoming accustomed to it. Accustomed to the harsh noises she endured during the day because she knew the quiet that the night brought to the Alienage. Accustomed to the raucous tavern that Varric claimed as his because after a few drinks and a small amount of effort, for once she could drown out the distractions and focus on the dwarf's ridiculous tales. Accustomed to the idea of companionship...

The sounds of the marketplace were coming to life while a few venders called out to her to view their wares. She continued past them and wove through the maze of alleys before arriving at the Eastern Gate.

The sun was just rising past Sundermount and in the distance she could see a storm rolling in from the west. From the south, a wind picked up and she swore she could smell winter in it. To the north were clear skies and an open road. At this point, any way was an equal option. Perhaps she should just head north until it became south and continue on until it became north again. Did it really matter?

"I hope you weren't thinking leaving without saying goodbye?"

Falon sighed as she turned to the dwarf leaning against the stone underpass.

"Farewells are overrated," she replied.

Varric tsked, "Such bad manners. I'm beginning to think you rangers are raised by wolves or something."

She gave him the most perplexed look and before she could help herself, she began to chuckle.

"You're close," she said. "But try to keep that to yourself."

Varric chuckled, "I'll try, but you know how I am. So where are you heading now?"

"I haven't decided yet," she said as she started off. Varric fell in step beside her, but she made no mention of it.

"Will you by chance be heading for Ferelden or somewhere close by it?"

"Probably not."

"And what if I were to ask you to?"

"Why is it every time we talk, there is always a double meaning behind your words?" Falon stopped and gave the dwarf her full attention, "Let's just cutout the run around this time Varric and just flat out ask me what you really want."

"Nothing much, just a favor for having stuck my neck out with Fenris and everything else," the dwarf replied nonchalantly.

His words slowly registered with her and before she could stop herself, she had rounded on the dwarf with more than a little ire.

"_You've_ stuck your neck out!"

"Well, it's been no picnic hiding Fenris, and those Imperium mages are pretty tenacious."

"Don't you try to pull a guilt trip on me, Varric Tethras. He's your friend, if anything you owe me for dragging him out of those woods."

Varric stroked his beardless chin as he watched her carefully, "So why have you stayed in Kirkwall for as long as you did. For a wandering nomadic hunter, you sure spent a lot of you time behind these walls."

In a rare moment, Varric was pleased to see the ranger actually speechless for once.

"Let me be straight with you, Falon. I've seen your skills, and they're good. Now, you stick out like a whore in the chantry among civilized society, but you know how to think on your feet and you know how to handle a blade. And correct me if I'm wrong, but you're relatively new to these parts. From your clothes and speech, I say you're real hunting grounds are around the Frostbacks."

"Get to the point, Varric."

The dwarf apparently took that as a yes.

Varric leaned closer as his voice dropped to almost a whisper, "I've happened to come upon a rather rare piece of manuscript. Something that, to some at least, hasn't even thought to have existed."

"And what has this have to do with me?" the ranger asked.

"It's elvhen in origin," the dwarf explained. "No Deeproads, no darkspawn, well I hope not much, but its territory that I myself am unfamiliar with."

"You need a guide," she stated plainly.

Varric smiled, "Glad we're on the same page once again."

"You're going dungeon diving amid elvhen ruins," she stated less than emphatically. "Even if there was a profit in this, Varric, it's more than likely not going to be in gold and jewels."

"Yes, well, I'm one of those people who find information just as valuable as gold. If we do find an ancient piece of history, you can imagine how much the right person would pay for it. But don't worry, I intend to make sure you're well paid for your endeavors."

"Is that so? I suppose as a token of our budding friendship, you would be magnanimous enough to pay me upfront?"

"Let's not get too hasty," Varric mused.

Falon shifted the weight of her pack and glanced at the trees behind him.

"Where did you want to go?" she asked.

Varric smiled as he pulled out a cylindrical map case. He gingerly pulled the ancient, ivory scroll out and carefully opened it before them.

"The tomb's located right at the heart of the elves' old homeland. I hear that few humans have actually settled there after the exalted march on the Dales, so the area is mostly woods and ruins."

"You said 'tomb.' Who's tomb?"

Varric shrugged, "It's just an old legend."

"Varric."

"If I got the translation right, the map calls it Fen'harel's tomb."

"No."

Falon turned so fast the ends of her coat snapped violently. Varric quickly folded up his map and put it away before jogging after her. Before he even turned around, she was halfway across the bridge and heading for the woods.

Varric sprinted after her and was just able to catch up with her as the stone turned to the dirt road. She didn't acknowledge him as she strode down the dusty path, but Varric kept up with as he took two steps for every one of hers.

"You're wasting your time, Varric."

"Will you just hear me out?"

"No."

"Of all the stubborn," Varric growled. Against his better sense, he snatched the sleeve of her coat and pulled her to a stop. Thankfully, she didn't pull a knife on him. "I can respect this whole lone wolf thing." Falon's eyes narrowed but he made it a point to ignore her, "Just don't act like you don't give a shit about Fenris and Merrill."

Falon snatched her arm away, "What are you going on about now?"

"Think about it for a second," Varric hissed. "I have a map, a map that could lead us to one of the biggest cache of elvhen history since those Imperium mages wiped their culture off the face of Thedas. You don't think Merrill would give her right arm for an opportunity like this? By the Void, she was willing to deal with a demon for it."

"And you talked her into this?"

"Even if I did, why wouldn't she agree to it?"

"Because it's reckless," Falon snapped. "The Dales aren't the Deeproads, but in the forests south of them, there are worse things than darkspawn that lurk beneath those trees."

"So you _have_ been there before?"

The ranger glared down at him, "Are you even listening to me?"

Varric sighed, "I'm hanging on every word, my lady, but at the same time, you haven't given me any real pause."

Falon stepped closer and stood at her full height, "Then listen to this very carefully. Those woods have seen more bloodshed and anguish than should have ever been allowed. To willing go there is to invite trouble."

Varric rolled his eyes, "Aren't you being a little dramatic?" Falon spun on her heel and started walking for the tree line. "Alright, alright," Varric said as he caught back up with her, "you've made your point. But can't you at least consider Fenris?"

"How does this concern him?" she asked.

"Think about it…you and I both know that the longer he stays in this city the closer those mages are to getting to him. What better way to shake them than getting lost in some of the oldest, darkest forest this side of Par Volen?"

Falon sighed and rubbed the spot between her eyes, "They will most likely just follow us, Varric."

"And if the woods are as dangerous as you say, then the spirits and demons will take care of them for us," he chuckled.

Falon was not amused. She turned and looked back towards the east for a moment. She was so close that she could feel the earthy scent of the trees already begin to permeate the grime and other pungent smells of the city that clung to her like a second skin. So close… Finally, she closed her eyes and let out a resolute sigh.

"No, Varric. I'm not going back there. I…I just…I'm sorry."

Falon refused to look back at the dwarf as she stared straight ahead into the darkness of the forest. From here she could travel to other forests and continue to exist unseen and unheard. She didn't look back and she didn't waver as she passed beneath the boughs of the trees and disappeared into the shadows.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"So what now?"

Varric could ask the elf the same question, but remained silent as he contemplated his next move in front of the fire. Varric was seldom ever caught without an ace up his sleeve, but he had enough humility to admit that this was one of them. Senchel had sent word that his boat was ready, but with their current impasse, Varric wasn't too eager to proceed until they knew their next couple moves. However, time was not on their side.

"Are you going to abandon this or not?"

"Pfft, I put too much time and gold into this to quit because of one little bump in the road."

"Your little bump leaves you with no guide and no idea how to traverse through uncharted territory."

"How hard can it be to find a replacement?" Fenris didn't reply. Varric joined him at the little table tucked far back into a dark corner of the tavern and leaned back into his chair. "We take the ship to Jader. It's a port city, which increases our chances of finding the right person for the job. From there, we get the rest of our supplies and we'll make our way south."

"It isn't like you to be caught so unprepared, dwarf."

"Yeah, well talk to me when you got three members of the Carta, Coiterie, and Merchant's Guild breathing down your neck and the threat of Crows hanging over your head." The elf gave him an even look from across the table. "Right, never mind," the dwarf replied. "I'm going upstairs. If Daisy shows, send her up will you?"

He didn't wait for a reply. Most likely the elf would ignore her and she would just make her way up to his apartments by herself. Of the three of them, Daisy had been the most enthusiastic of his find. It didn't come as a surprise to the dwarf, but it was amusing to see how quickly the elf's fear of leaving the city vanished when he dangled the opportunity in front of her. He hadn't seen her all day and had yet to mention the ranger's abrupt departure. Even though they had taken a setback, Daisy had taken more than a bit of a shine to her and Varric had a feeling the mage would be more concerned of the ranger's absence than anything else.

As Varric pondered what their next course of action would be, he failed to notice the thin wire stretched across his doorway. Instincts kicked in, and the blast only sent him flying down the hallway instead of making him a bloody smear on the floor. Over the ringing in his head, he heard screaming and running and the splintering of wood. In the back of his mind, he knew he should be trying to move, but something was on top of him and his eyesight refused to focus. Someone roughly grabbed him by his collar and pulled him from beneath the wreckage. Slowly his vision cleared and he recognized the elf standing over him.

"Can I call them or what?" the dwarf coughed.

"If you can joke, you can walk," Fenris said as he pulled the dwarf to his feet. He lent him his shoulder and pulled him towards the stairs. Varric reached for his own shoulder and pulled the elf to a halt when he found a strap missing.

"Bianca?"

He searched haphazardly through the destroyed hallway until his weapon was shoved into his arms.

"We have to leave now!"

Varric nodded as he tried to regain his senses. He stuck close behind the elf as they scrambled through the remains of the Hanged Man's second floor. The air was suddenly thick with smoke and in the back of his mind he realized how hot it suddenly was. The both of them stumbled down the flight of stairs and through the deserted barroom. Just as they reached the entrance, Fenris stopped them and pulled out his broadsword.

"Ready?"

Varric snatched Bianca from his back with a satisfying chorus of metal and wood clicking into place.

"First one to twenty gets the next round of drinks on the house," Varric replied.

There was a hint of a smile on the elf's face right before he kicked the door open with a satisfying bang.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Falon pressed herself closer to the rocks as she ascended the winding paths of Sundermount. Little could be discerned in the dwindling twilight, but with their Keeper gone, the Dalish were volatile and easily provoked. It was better she went unseen than encounter any of Merrill's people.

The thought of the little elf made her frown in concern. It was still hard to comprehend the mage's tale of demons, blood magic, and death, but the elves' behavior and lack of guidance did little to argue against Merrill's story. Falon shivered and not from the cold. She could practically feel the dark magic cling to her. It lingered around the mountain like a hooded shroud and caused her hair to stand on end.

The ranger continued to weave a path up the mountain. Eventually, she came upon a small stone altar resting at the precipitous of a cliff. As she cautiously approached it, realization hit her, and Falon hastily backed away.

"So Varric's stories have some truth to them."

A strong wind buffeted the cliff and nearly tore her cloak from her shoulders. She snatched it back and watched as the small blue flames on the altar gutted and flared back to life. Falon eyed it critically before reshouldering her pack.

No one roams the southern lands without hearing the tales of the Witch of the Wilds, Flemeth, or Asha'bellanar. Those tales, some far-fetched and others she knew without a doubt were true, had been told and retold to her so many times she could recite them in her sleep. So when Varric told her the tale of how he and his companion Hawke traversed the mountain to help resurrect the witch with Merrill's aid, she had been skeptical. But the powerful magic that lingered was evidence enough that something had been awakened here and she had spent enough time with Merrill to know what the mage's magic felt like.

Falon approached the altar and poured the contents of her waterskin onto the blue fire. It hissed and blinked out, but in seconds came back to life stronger than before.

"Impressive, Merrill."

She was indeed a very talented mage. It was a shame she turned her back on her clan as she did. She could have been invaluable to them in the future. Falon remembered the elf's remarks on her clansmen and her continued dealings with spirits and demons. The ranger sighed and turned away. It was hard to believe that little mage had been capable of such devastation and chaos.

And power.

Power enough that could resurrect a being like Asha'bellanar. A blood mage she was but even without the aid of spirits, Merrill had shown herself to be quite strong. Strong enough to possibly…?

"No," she said as she shook her head. "It's done. It's over."

But try as she might to silence her thoughts, Varric's insane but tempting offer replayed in her mind. The chances of them reaching the tomb were near impossible even with all the gear and equipment their gold could buy. None of it mattered unless the three had a means to traverse the woods. Like so many old forests in Thedas, the trees and creatures were old enough to still remember what it was they once protected. They would shield their secrets from any outsiders. Only someone who knew the forest's tricks would be able to get past it. She had told the dwarf that it was treacherous to journey into those lands. However, she did not mention that to venture into them unprepared and unwittingly was practically suicidal.

Falon shook her head again as if to reassure herself, "They have good sense. They'll turn back before they get too far in."

But they were resilient. She had seen them fight and had seen their resolve. The same qualities that were in so many others before them and now their bones littered the ancient forest floor.

Falon grabbed the urn that contained the blue flame and hurled it over the side of the cliff. She watched it fall until it shattered on the rocks. The flames splashed over the face of the mountain and continued to burn until a strong gale swept over the stone and snuffed them out.

"Hundreds of fools walk to their deaths every day," she whispered to herself. "Why should these three be any different?"

She wouldn't go back. She promised herself she wouldn't go back. And now here she was, standing on the side of a mountain debating if she would return. And for what: a dwarf seeking a fortune, a mage looking for answers, and a slave searching for his freedom. All of which she knew they would not find beyond those trees. There was a sudden pain in her chest. The same pain that she had felt before and thought she had grown numb to.

"Why should they be any different?" she repeated.

Angrily she shoved the thoughts and feelings and memories away. With one last disdainful look at the altar, Falon turned her back on it and continued up the mountain.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Over the rooftops she could see the orange glow in the sky, but it wasn't in the right part of the city for it to be the Foundary. Merrill had a sinking feeling in her gut and quickly grabbed her things before sprinting off towards the Hanged Man. Just before she rounded the corner, the all too familiar sound of battle reached her. Her staff was in her hands before she knew it. As she entered the street, she slammed it down into the ground and sent three lightly armored men flying into the wall.

She had only a moment to notice the flames that were shooting out of the windows of the Hanged Man as it was slowly gutted by the fire. All around her there were bodies. Some the same armored men; others looked like people she had seen before in the tavern.

"Daisy! Behind you!"

Merrill brought her staff around without thinking and made a solid thunk into a leather helmet. The man rolled with the attack and was soon darting towards her with two daggers flashing in the firelight. He was only a foot away when the sharp protrusions of the ice impaled him through his throat. She was no longer thinking as the sound of metal on metal exploded around her. Her mind easily shifted into a place where all other thoughts beyond spells were unnecessary and all that mattered was movement and reflex. She fought her way through two more opponents before she was in a familiar formation by Varric's side with Fenris in front. Both of them looked as if they had been battling for hours. They were covered in soot and grim and Fenris's sword was caked in blood and dirt.

"What's going on?" she managed to asked.

"I'll explain later," Varric coughed. "We need to get to the docks."

Fenris surged ahead before Merrill could get another word in. Whoever these men were, they didn't seem like the usual brand of thug that stalked their streets. They were quick and organized. Several times they swarmed Fenris and she had to strike out with a chain lightning spell to keep them back.

When the last wave was dealt with, she heard Varric shouting from the rear, "Keep moving!"

Varric dashed down one of the smaller alleyways. She kept in step right behind him until they stepped out onto another street. Varric's gaze was immediately up top as he scanned the rooftops while she and Fenris searched every shadow critically. Something hit the dirt with a soft thud behind her and she heard Varric curse before shoving her aside. The force of the rogue's volatile flask-grenade left her physically unscathed, but she couldn't see and there was a deafening ringing in her ears. She had just barely enough sense to use a mind blast spell on the two figures charging towards her.

"Shit, they're trying to block us with the riot gates!"

Someone grabbed her by her arm and practically dragged her some several yards before she was able to get her feet under her. She saw Varric further ahead as he sprinted through the narrow opening of one of Kirkwall's gates. In the distance she could see the harbor and she forced her legs to run harder. The opening was getting smaller. She wasn't going to make it. Something grabbed her by the back of her robes and with a great surge of power, she was thrown forward and landed on the other side of the gate just as they closed behind her.

Merrill looked back at the gate locking into place and realized that Fenris was still on the other side.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"Damn," he heard the dwarf curse behind him, but the warrior didn't waste a moment.

Fenris heard them before they were on him, and he didn't have the luxury of Varric's crossbow at his back now. He could hear the mage's and dwarf's shouts form the other side and he mentally cursed them. This was an opportunity to run, why weren't they taking it?

"We might be able to double back and-"

"There's no time," Fenris shouted over his shoulder.

His sword swung wide and scattered the two assassins in front of him as he turned on the one trying to flank him.

"By the Void there isn't!"

Another Crow took the full force of his swing and the warrior could hear several bones in his neck crack. And as the assassin hit the ground, he rounded on the dwarf.

"Go!" he ordered.

He briefly caught the dwarf's gaze and for a moment his anger was doused. The dwarf knew a lost cause when he saw one, just as Fenris did now. But it was that indecision that gave him some twisted form of comfort now. Fenris had seen that look once before, but this time he nodded his farewell to his friend as he stood ready to face his adversaries instead of hanging his head meekly like a struck dog while being led away.

Varric pulled the mage away, and Fenris cleared his mind of all other thoughts except the battle. He refused to acknowledge his fatigue as his sword continued to bite through bone and metal and when his assailants got too close, he made them aware that his markings were not merely for decoration. He kept the gate to his back and continued to fight for what felt like hours. Eight more fell since he was separated from the others, yet there seemed no end to them.

He saw the movement from the corner of his eye, but was too slow to register it. The arrow struck him in the weak spot of his armor right below his arm and into the thick muscle. It was a sniper's shot, not lethal, but debilitating, and one he cursed in every language that was available to him. He lost his grip on his sword and was rushed. He was quickly disarmed, his head slammed against the gate, and then pinned to the ground in only a few moves.

His breath came in pants and stirred the bloodied dust as the side of his face was pressed into the ground. His arms were yanked behind him and bound and then followed by a swift kick to his ribs.

"That's for all my men," a man with a thick Antivan accent spat. He sent another kick into his gut and knocked the breath from his lungs. "And that is for all the trouble you've caused me tonight, you stinking knife-ear."

Fenris managed the best glare he could from his prone position. The Crow took no notice as he looked around at the damage about him. A few feet away, another Crow was nursing his shoulder which Fenris had merely dislocated.

"If you have not noticed," he shouted to the wounded Crow, "we are only halfway done for the night. So stop your blubbering, go join the others, and finish off the mark." The assassin nodded and quickly left with two others. "Frendeli, help me with this one."

Fenris felt someone grab his side and pull him to his feet. He made no move to aid them as they hauled him up. Up above, the helmed archer continued to watch them like a hawk.

"Ansena, go make sure the way is clear," the leader ordered. The sniper nodded and quickly disappeared over the rooftops.

"What are you doing, Iglario," the one called Frendeli said. "The contract did not specify taking any captives. We should have just killed him. The guildmaster is not going to be pleased with how many we lost tonight.

"I don't need reminding," he spat. "But I recognize this one. This is the slave our contact in Minrathos was hunting a few years back. Look at the markings. There is no mistaking it."

"And?"

"And, the guildmaster will find our contract tonight far more profitable when we inform the magister about his now found property."

A few moments later, the sniper reappeared on the ledge above them and signaled for them to continue. For what seemed like ages, he was dragged though the back alleys while he struggled to come up with a plan to escape. If he could only get away from the archer's line of sight, he would have a chance. In the distance he could hear the commotion of the city guard, but his captors made an effort to avert their course further away from them.

Once he realized they were nearing Hightown, his heart began to race. He started to struggle and was given a blow to the back of his head for his trouble. He wasn't going to be handed over, not again, and if it meant an arrow in his throat, then so be it. He felt his wrist phase through the cord and plunged it into the assassin next to him. He had only enough time to throw him off and crush the throat of the other when he heard the thunk of an arrow being embedded in flesh.

He looked up and watched the sniper fall to his knees and then to the street below with a black arrow sticking out of his throat. On the other side of the street, standing on the rooftops, was the ranger with her bow drawn.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

It didn't matter how many times he cursed or how many Crows hit the dirt, it just wasn't good enough. It wasn't enough that they blocked their every turn and escape, but Varric couldn't get the image of the elf out of his head or the sick taste it left in his mouth. And he was going to make sure each of these bastards paid in full for it.

"C'mon you sons of bitches! I've got something for ya!"

It was tricky, but as long as they kept them at a distance, they could make it. That's what he kept telling himself. He was surprised that there was no signs of the guard, but considering who they were dealing with, he was convinced the Crows had some hand in that as well. He spotted Senchel's boat at the end of the pier and hoped the old bastard was still ready to go. If not, well he didn't really want to think on that.

Merrill cleared their path with a well placed chain lightening spell and Varric spurred them on before the Crows had a chance to regroup. The dwarf heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the smuggler on deck watching them through his telescope.

"Senchel! Senchel you senile old bastard, get this tub of yours moving!"

Immediately, the old man jumped down and began moving with the speed of a sailor half his age. Before they were even on the gang plank, Senchel had the sails drawn and half the lines loose.

"Merrill, keep them back until we clear the docks," Varric order.

He spotted several figures massing at the head of the pier, but concentrated on getting to ship out into open water. Merrill gasped, but he took no notice as he began cutting the lines.

"Varric! Varric, look it's Fenris!"

The dwarf's head snapped up and his mouth dropped in disbelief. There was no mistaking that flash of white as it cut its way through the docks, and behind him, like a deadly shadow, the ranger covered his back as they fought their way to the ship.

Varric realized that there was at least twenty feet of water between the ship and the pier and it was steadily growing larger.

Varric jumped up on the railing, "Move your asses, you two!"

The elf didn't seem to hear him, but Falon suddenly reached for her belt and threw something just as Fenris began to glow and then slammed his weapon into the ground. A massive green cloud of smoke laced with pulses of lyrium enveloped them and the next thing he saw was a hooded figure sprinting down the length of the pier with her hand secured firmly around the elf's wrist as she towed him behind her.

They didn't slow when the pier came to an abrupt halt, but dived into the water and swam after the ship. Once they were clear, magic surged around the mage next to him as she called down a tempest to take care of the remaining Crows. Varric tossed a line over the railing and as quickly as he could, pulled up the ranger and the warrior.

Both of them collapsed on the deck as they tried to regain their breath. The elf was sporting an arrow wound on his arm, but besides a few small cuts, scrapes, and bruises, he looked well. He caught his gaze and gave him a curt nod. Varric returned the gesture and swore that the next tavern they came across, he would let the elf drink wine and smash bottles to his broody little heart's content.

Beside him, panting just as equally hard, was Falon. She wasn't looking at anything in particular, but when she felt Varric's gaze on her, she caught his eye.

"And here I thought you would be half-way to Antiva by now," he said. "The temptation of the Dales too much to pass up?"

She glanced over at the warrior next to her as he refused Merrill's insistence to help him with his arm and then over the bow of the ship as they sailed past the Twins and into the open water before her green and brown eyes finally settled back on him.

"Something like that," she whispered.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He was dreaming.

He knew he was dreaming because he was never this clear headed when he was awake. Yes, his thoughts weren't really his own when he was in the Fade either, but there were moments, precious moments like this where he could see. These were times where he wasn't blinded by some overwhelming surge of hate and righteous fury.

These were rare, blissful moments where he was just himself. At least, what he could remember of himself.

Even now, he could feel that ever present entity in the back recesses of his mind. It was tired. Exhausted. For now, it would dwell there until remarshaling its strength and him with it to once more carry out his…their plans as deluded and uncertain as he now was of them.

He walked for some time on the murky paths of the Fade. He reminisced how he use to do this years ago, before he met Justice, but it was all haze. Now, he could barely recall his time as a Grey Warden and their routine missions in the Deeproads to fight darkspawn. For a brief instant, he recalled a large hallway, not nearly a full as it could be, but there were faces, none of them he could put a name to, but he had the vague recollection that they were new…like he was. He saw the Warden Commander…he was an elf…but his name…

He sighed in frustration and willed the memory to just go away, but again it came surging back as a rough, burly voice laughing raucously in his ear as a pint was shoved into his hands. The brown liquid sloshed all over his robes, but he didn't care. He had only laughed harder as the newcomer grabbed him around the shoulder and clanked their mugs together.

"_Hey! Hey, sparkle-fingers! Asschaps!"_

The brief flash of a memory caused him to laugh quietly to himself, but he couldn't remember the face of the person speaking. He couldn't even recall a name. Were they friends? He wanted to think so, but maybe it had just been some drunken patron. Were they at a tavern or was in in some great hall of some notable lord?

Anders was finally exhausted from his sleep as ironic as it sounded. He didn't want to be here anymore, lost amidst his own thoughts. He didn't want to face the truth that soon, he would probably be looking upon these fragments of memories and not even recognize that he was a part of them. And that thought: the idea of not recognizing yourself…that frightened him more than any demon or abomination.

And all because he had felt pity for a dying spirit.

As if by his willpower alone, his eyes shot open and he gasped as the heavy air of the real world inflated his lungs. It was dark, wherever it was he was now in, but there was a small ray of light that cut through all of the blackness. He stumbled onto his feet as if he hadn't walked in days. He reached out for the light and grasped a greasy piece of cloth in his hands.

He ripped off the curtain and was momentarily blinded as the bright light flooded the dingy room. In the back of his mind, he could feel Justice stir uncomfortably, but he eventually settled when realizing there was no danger to be had. For now at least.

He could barely make out was beyond the dirty, stained glass besides a few moldy buildings. In the spaces between them, he could see the ocean. If he listened, he could hear the sound of the dock workers and the call of seabirds.

Leaving the window for now, he inspected the room he had awoken in. He vaguely recalled the bags at the foot of his bed. When he opened one, there were several provisions inside. A bedroll. An random glove. And at the bottom, a comb. He held the carved piece of bone in his hands as his fingers smoothed over the silken black strands that still clung to it.

"Hawke?"

Hawke…she was here with him or at least, she should be here with him. Although, here was…

Minrathos…

Already he could feel the spirit in him writhe in response to his thoughts of the Imperium's capital. Justice had thrown both of them into a war all because of the subjugation of mages. What was the spirit capable when presented with over a thousand years of brutality and slavery to elves?

He sighed as he buried his face in his hands. Vaguely, he recalled Hawke whispering something to him while he slept.

'I'll be back by morning, Anders.'

How much time had passed?

He gazed back out at the window. Through the dingy glass, he could see the fresh blue and yellow of an early morning. The sun had been up over the western horizon for a few hours now and appeared to be close to noon.

A coldness seeped into his gut. Even if his memories had more holes in them than cheese, there were some things he knew for a fact. And one of them was Hawke was rarely late. Always the tactician, always the planner, she would rather push them on after a skirmish with several of them still bleeding or limping and reach her informant or some ambush spot on time rather than be a few minutes behind due to tending minor wounds. If Hawke was late, something was wrong.

He pondered waiting. It seemed like the logical choice. He was virtually lost amidst this place, but at the same time, there was a persistent pull at the back of his mind that had nothing to do with the spirit there.

He didn't realize it, but he had been pacing this whole time. He glanced out of the window and then at the comb he still had in his hand. With a final bit of conviction, he donned the only cloak left on the dresser, grabbed his staff that had been leaning on the wall next to the bed as well as their packs, and left the tiny room.

It was all a blur as he stalked down the rickety steps and through the cramped barroom. His thoughts were of a single purpose right now and that was as he wanted them. If he became too distracted, too engrossed in the things around him, there was the possibility of Justice resurfacing and he couldn't afford that, not here and not right now.

He stumbled around the alleys trying to head in a singular direction, but the twisting architecture and haphazard design of the streets seemed to be made in a similar fashion and purpose like Kirkwall: to confuse and disorient so as to stifle organized movement or regrouping.

So far, he was going relatively unnoticed, though several elves eyed the staff on his back warily and gave him a wide birth. But soon, it became apparent that he had made a grievous error in pursuing this endeavor.

After perhaps only half an hour of searching, he was utterly lost.

He was forced to begin to take more careful notes of the surrounding buildings, but in doing so, he could see the squalor that these people lived in. He began to see the fear in so many of the elves when they wouldn't even risk looking at him. It was like the Circle or even Darktown all over again, only worse.

An all too familiar rage began to grow in his chest. It wanted to burn this city. Level it to ash for all the injustices it stood for. He wanted to cause fire to rain from the sky and the see to swallow it up as a message to all who would condone such travesties. He would make an example of this city, just like he had in Kirkwall.

'STOP IT!'

He ducked into the nearest alley and slammed the back of his head into the wall if only to jar the ranting thoughts off course for a moment. He stood there, panting softly as he tried to get a rein on Justice and filter out everything else that was wasn't just strictly _him._ But it was like trying to shift the fine, miniscule grains of clay out of water. It was near impossible.

He didn't even know which parts were him at this point.

In utter defeat, he collapsed there in the alley and resolved himself to stay there for a time. He was forgetting everything else about himself, why couldn't he just forget that as well? But even if he hadn't voiced his thoughts just now, he couldn't believe how entirely selfish he had sounded.

Not for the first time in his pitiful existence did he contemplate ending it. Vaguely, he remembered he had such thoughts before he had acquired Justice, but ever since then the spirit had kept a relatively firm hold on such…distractions.

But now, as he sat here spent and utterly vulnerable, he wondered how easy it would be for a semi-capable pickpocket or even some desperate vagabond. A quick knife under the ribs, a shallow cut to the side of this throat. He and Justice probably wouldn't have the time to summon up enough magic to save him in time.

He continued slipping further and further into his dark thoughts when he was suddenly jarred awake by a wet nose and a loud bark. The mabari jumped back and did that silly dance of his as he chased his tail. Hawke had pointed out before how ridiculous it was for a dog like that to make that kind of display, but clearly the hound didn't care. Before he could even summon up a greeting to the dog or tell him to stay back with that slobbery tongue of his, Garm shot off around the corner. Anders was about to chalk it up to some random hallucination until the mabari came racing back with Hawke right behind him.

"Anders?"

He couldn't even manage a smile at the mage when she kneeled next to him, but inside all those dark foreboding thoughts seemed to evaporate. And as he looked on her face and those striking blue eyes of hers, he wondered how he could ever even contemplate leaving this world when something like this so readily stood by his side. As undeserving as he was to her.

"Maker…you don't look good. Damn it, Anders, what were you thinking coming out here like this? I told you I would be back."

"You said you would be back by morning," he groaned.

"So you did hear that…" He nodded weakly. "I'm sorry. I know I was late, but I had some business and got…detained."

There was such a sadness in her voice. Even her eyes refused to meet his. Without hesitating, he reached over and grasped her hand in his. Her fingers were stiff and callused from all the years of fighting, but they were so warm and could be so gentle when she wanted them to be. For a moment, with her hand in his, and Justice's voice nothing but a dull murmur in the back of his head, he felt so content. But like so many good things in his life, it wasn't meant to last long. Hawke pulled away and scrubbed furiously at her face and effectively smudging it with even more dirt.

"Come on," she said as she began helping him to his feet. "We need to start making plans."

"Where to?"

"I don't know. As far as what little money we have left will take us. It doesn't matter."

"Hawke, what were you doing out here?"

At that, the mage's face went blank as she numbly shook her head, "I don't want to talk about it, Anders. Not now."

"Hawke."

"I said not now."

Ignoring her sudden withdrawn attitude, he was about to press her further when they heard a distinct uproar coming from down the street. Hawke pushed them further into the ally and cursed.

"Balls, I shouldn't have been so distracted. I didn't think they would regroup this fast."

"Hawke, what did you do?"

"I…I told you, I was wrapping up some business."

"And in this 'wrapping up' did you end up killing your business associate and/or their henchmen."

"It was only one henchman, and I…I wasn't thinking clearly at the time." Again the air of melancholy wrapped around the mage to the point that Anders was surprised she didn't hunch over from the weight of it. "But that isn't important right now. We have to get out of here. Come on."

Hawke seized his hand and began to literally pull him down the alley. He thought he had been lost before, but by the time Hawke finally stopped to let them catch their breath, he was utterly confused.

He could feel Justice respond to Hawke's urgency, and it was a challenge to keep the insistent spirit back without having to worry about the shouting that seemed to surround them from all sides now.

"I think they've surrounded us," Hawke exhaled as she glanced down three different allies. "But they might not know it."

Even with that little tidbit of a silver lining, Justice didn't like it. And the spirit made his point clear with a nauseating spike of pain right in the back of his head.

"Anders?"

"Justice," he managed to cough as he clung to her shoulder to try and keep his bearings. "Not happy about being…pent up."

"You been holding back Justice this entire time? For how long?"

"Since I woke up."

"Why?"

"Kirkwall…" Hawke gave him a sympathetic look as she helped brace more of his weight. "He…he's not very pleased about this place."

"Well he isn't the only one," Hawke mumbled as she searched for an escape. "Just try to keep him under control while I try to find a way out of this."

He grunted when another unpleasant throb hit the base of his skull. For a moment he thought he heard the spirit growl. Or had that been a hiss?

"Over here!"

There it was an again, but no, it hadn't been Justice.

Both mages turned to a narrow doorway that had a tattered piece of cloth for a door. Standing behind it, while peering behind the frame warily, was an elf. She nervously looked down the street, but caught their attention and began gesturing for them to follow.

"_Cito!_ Quickly. Come."

He made to follow, but Hawke bulked and kept him by her side.

"We don't have many options here, Hawke."

"Trust me, Anders, I don't need you reminding me of that."

"So why are we hesitating, they're going to be on us any minute. And I don't know about you, but I can't stomach a replay of Kirkwall. Not here."

Hawke glared over her shoulder at the ever increasing noise before pulling him along, "Balls."

The little elf held open the door-flap and ushered them to the back of the room and around a corner. There they waited until the sound of footsteps raced by. Several moments passed, but no one came barging into the dingy little hovel.

The elf that had saved them continued to peer out of the small, glassless window of her house. Finally, she returned to them with a small smile. Anders noted that she was somewhat pretty even if she was covered in a thin layer of dirt. Her dark brown hair and streaks of red in it and her large, brown eyes were sharp and calculating. She clearly wasn't someone he had expected to run into in the back allies of Minrathous.

"I think they have moved onto the docks. You should be safe for now," she whispered.

"Thank you," he replied hoarsely, "but why did you help us?"

Her smile deepened again as she returned with two small bowls of water.

"Lately, there have been many mages due to a new war in the southern realms. We've had so many refugees these days that they usually remain outside the city walls. But every once in a while a refugee will become lost on the streets of South Side. Then they are just easy prey for the slave hunters."

At hearing this, he felt Justice give a not so subtle pang, but he ignored it by focusing on how cold the water was and how good it felt going down his dry throat.

"That's unfortunate," he heard Hawke reply, "but that still doesn't explain why you wanted to help us."

"Life here, is…difficult, but despite what many believe, there are a few of us within this city that fight to make a change."

"So…you harbor refugees?"

"At least those who are trying to leave the city rather than get in. There is of course a few like yourselves that I find. I keep them safe for a time until its clear for them to leave."

"You help slaves escape the city," she stated plainly after reading between the young elf's words.

"Yes," she replied in a nearly inaudible whisper, "but please, keep your voice down."

Hawke stared at the elf and then shot over to him. Her eyes roamed over his features and he knew she was taking in everything from his labored breathing to his eyes which he was sure was beginning to show traces of Justice.

"Do you…do you need a way out of the city?"

With a resolute sigh, Hawke turned back to the elf, "It appears that we do, yes."

"Alright. Give me a moment. I need to bring you to the safe house before we can discuss where you wish to go from here. Precautions you understand. It will also give your friend some time to recuperate. His pallor does not look well." She left and then quickly returned donned in a tattered cloak littered with holes. "Forgive my rudeness by not mentioning it earlier, but name is Apate."

"I'm Elegant, and this is Justice," Hawke replied without a pause.

He had to smile a little. Even he found it a little humorous if not a little dark. But the truth was Hawke was always wary and if they were being hunted, the last thing she was going to give out would be names.

The elf gave them a knowing smile but still bowed slightly to them, "A pleasure. Now, follow me."

She led them to the back of the tiny room they were in towards a dingy sleeping pallet. She pulled the thin sheets aside, and on her hands and knees began feeling around the dirt floor. She grunted softly and then pulled back a large piece of wood. As the dirt slid off, an underground tunnel was revealed.

"Come," she replied as she lit a lantern and held the piece of wood open for them. Hawke helped him to the opening, but Apate suddenly held up her hand. "I'm sorry, but you can't take him down here," she said as she gestured to the large war dog at Hawke's heel.

The mabari cocked his head as he gave a questioning whine. However, Hawke gave an emphatic scoff at such an idea.

"There's no way I'm leaving Garm."

"You have to. Where I will be taking you there are too many mothers and children. They're all lost and frightened as it is. But if I bring not one, but two human mages accompanied by a mabari, then I might cause a panic."

"What's does Garm being a mabari have to do with anything?"

"While they may not be as prevalent as they use to, but they're still a status symbol here in Minrathous. They might mistake you for magisters and then flee. Please, just leave the hound here for now. You can come back for him once your friend is well enough."

Hawke sighed as she glanced down at the dog. Garm whined and shook his stump of a tail, but then lowered his head when his person's face didn't soften.

"I'm sorry, boy. But it's only for a few days. Stay by the docks. I'll come back for you."

The mabari replied with a pitiful huff, but still licked Hawke's hand before departing the room.

"Alright," Hawke said with more ire to her voice than before, "can we go now?"

Apate nodded and gestured for them to go first. They descended a short flight of stairs until they reached the tunnel. It was mostly rough-cut stone, but every few paces there were iron brackets that contained unlit torches. Apate moved ahead of them and silently signaled for them to follow. It was significantly cooler down here, but the steady drip of water could be heard no matter how many turns they made or how far they went.

After some time, Hawke called out, "How much further?"

"Not much longer now," the elf called over her shoulder.

Finally, she led them to a large door. She gave a series of short and loud knocks that he was unable to follow. Shortly after, there was the sound of locks coming undone and then the door swung open. Apate quickly dashed inside but not before calling over her shoulder for them to hurry. By the time he and Hawke stepped through the door, Apate was already on the side of the small room and going through another door.

Which was closing right behind her.

"Oh no."

Hawke released him to try and catch the door that was closing behind them, but the bang of the locks bolting into place was resolute. The mage abandoned the door and streaked to the other one that the elf had fled through only to have it slam into her face like the first.

Panic flared in Hawke's eyes and already he could feel the fretters of control he had on Justice popping one by one with each passing second. It was then that they noticed a gas beginning to emit from the grating along the stone walls. In just a few seconds, the whole room was filled with a noxious vapor. He tried to reach out for his magic, but there was nothing. Only fog. His legs gave out and he crumpled to the ground. Even Justice's rage and vengeance was stifled until being utterly silenced. The last thing he could discern before the blackness took him was Hawke, throwing her weight against the door before she too collapsed onto the floor.

* * *

Happy New Year everyone. Hope its going well so far. Anyway, thanks to all who took the time to review or comment. See ya next time.


	9. The Waking Sea

**A/N**: All rights to Bioware. All hail Bioware. The rest I claim as my own...

* * *

"What lies behind us

and what lies before us

are tiny matters compared to

what lies within us.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The ship pitched to the side as another wave seemed to pick it up and throw it across the water. Falon cringed and buried her face deeper into her pillow. On the deck above, she could hear Merrill's excited cries as the accursed boat crested another wave. A few minutes would pass, and just when she thought that the seas had decided to settle, the boat would pitch once more along with her stomach. Over the crashing waves and creak of the wood, Falon heard Merrill's quick, soft steps coming down the stairs.

"Falon, you have to come up and see the ocean."

"I've seen it before, Merrill. It's a lot of water and a lot of sky."

"Yes, but you have to come see it now that the storm has passed. There are so many colors in the sky and the wind has this smell to it, I can't describe it, you have to see for yourself."

She wanted to shout back that the sky looked the same way every morning at dawn, but she didn't come barging into her room so they could look at it. Instead, Falon caught herself and contented to just sigh in her bunk.

"I'm still not feeling well, Merrill," she admitted. "Just let me rest for a little while longer."

"Oh, well if you're seasick, then the best thing to do would be to step out on deck. Isabela, suggested it to me once. Since she was a captain, well not at the time because she didn't have a ship, she did seem to know a lot about these things and-"

"If you do not cease your insistent ramblings, you can enjoy the ocean and the air for the rest of the trip at the top of the mast after I tie you to it."

Falon lifted her head just enough to give a disgruntled look at the elf in the bottom of the bunk opposite of her, but he was lying on his side with his back to them. Even if he were facing her, the small lantern swaying overhead offered only the smallest amount of light. Thankfully, Merrill was sending him her own dirty look, which hopefully meant that the mage wasn't letting him get to her any longer. The ranger just wasn't in the mood to jump to the mage's defense at the moment.

"I'll come and check on you later then," Merrill replied somewhat softly.

Falon watched her retreat up the stairs and close the cabin door behind her. Fenris turned over in his bunk and was now lying on his back so she could just barely make out his features in the dim light.

"That must have been the seventh time in the last three days that you have threatened to tie her up somewhere on this ship," she said. "If you don't watch what you say, Varric is going to start getting ideas."

"Let the dwarf think what he wants if it means that I can rest. The mage has been on a ship before, it's not as if this is a whole new experience for her."

"Why can't you just let her enjoy herself?"

"She can enjoy herself when I am not trying to sleep," the elf shot back.

Falon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She felt too drained to be arguing with him right now. The ship suddenly lurched to the side and if it wasn't for the railing on her bunk, she would be splayed out on the floor right now. But as she settled back into her small nook, her stomach angrily protested to the meager pieces of food that were in it. She forced the bile back down and once more cursed the stinking ocean.

Not for the first time or the last, she wondered what she was doing here. She should have continued on up the mountain. It wasn't as if she had not departed in such fashions before. It was easier to travel alone, faster too. But every time she tried to turn east, the same feeling in her chest and stomach began to gnaw at her again. And the feeling didn't go away until her arrow had killed the assassin and she found the elf looking up at her with a mixed expression of shock and relief.

She glanced down towards the bottom bunk on the other side of the cabin. Fenris hadn't moved despite the constant motion of the boat and his earlier remark. It had been the first time she heard him speak in the three days since she had been forced to huddle in the dark hold of the ship. While the others assisted the captain during the day, the warrior seemed to have taken over the night shift, so that meant her miserable days were spent in his silent company. For which she should have been grateful. Their last few encounters had never ended on the best of circumstances, especially the ones in which they did open their mouths.

The boat pitched again and this time, the rotten wood of the railing splintered and she toppled out of her bunk. Instincts made her arms fling out to brace against the fall while at the same time completely forgetting the injury she had sustained a few days prior. She nearly screamed when her blistered and burned hand made impact with the floor. Falon stifled the scream and clutched the hand to her chest. The combination of her hand, stomach, head, and the fall made her angrily kick out at the ship, but that action only added a hurt foot to her already growing list of maladies. Several long moments passed where she tried to gather her strength, but the constant throb of her arm and the movement of the ship made it nearly impossible. She was about to resign herself to remain on the floor when she heard him shift above her.

"Do you need assistance?"

She shook her head and made another attempt to stand, but even that small motion left her head spinning. Without even being able to get to her knees, Falon fell back onto the floor of the cabin. Her hand throbbed and after swallowing what was left of her wounded pride, she slowly nodded her head.

Two solid, lean arms snaked up under her shoulders and legs and then quickly deposited her on the other bottom bunk. The cool sheets felt refreshing to her hand and head as she laid back down.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she pulled the sheet over her.

He made no reply as he returned to his own bunk, but as he sat back down, his eyes strayed over her injured hand.

"Does it still hinder you?"

She flexed her fingers slightly, "It'll be fine in a day or two."

She could tell by his face that he wasn't attempting to apologize for it, but she at least took note that he was acknowledging her injury.

It was the first time in over three days that he mentioned her hand. It had been painful, yet she made a point never to complain about it. She had seen to it herself, so that was the end of it. In truth, she had not even noticed it until they were out into the ocean and they had left Kirkwall far beyond the horizon. It was only when the waves began to grow larger and Falon grabbed a hold of the railing that she noticed the shooting pain in the palm of her hand, the same hand she had injured in the skirmish with the mages weeks ago and then had used to haul Fenris away from the battle. When she examined it, the leather of her glove had been burned away and the skin beneath was badly blistered and damaged as if she grabbed hold of a red hot iron and refused to let go.

When she had first grabbed him, he had recoiled so violently from her that for a moment she was afraid that he would turn his sword on her. But when he still refused to retreat, she went against her better judgment and seized him once more as she practically dragged him down the pier and into the bay. It was only once they hit the icy water did she release him and still she had kept one eye on him and another on the ship.

The elf had always been wary of his markings and in turn so had she. He never fully explained them to her, and she had a feeling he didn't know the full knowledge behind them either. However, the fact that they had the power to physically burn a person through contact left her wondering what they did to him in the process.

The sound of creaking wood pulled her from her musings. She looked over and in the feeble light could see the stark color of his hair amidst the shadows.

"At this point, the blood mage is more useful than you."

"At this point, you'll be lucky if I even make across this infernal ocean," she snapped back.

"You don't seem like the type to sell their skills and sword to others, so why are you constantly intruding on my affairs?"

"The moment I killed those mages back in that forest, your affairs became mine."

"I did not ask for your assistance that night nor with the Crows."

"And I didn't need you permission to give it. Besides, it's not as if I had asked for anything in return."

"Yet here you are."

The ship seemed to roll over on its side and she forced the food back down into her stomach, "Yes, we can all see how well this is going for me."

"Then why help us, much less me?"

She whipped her head in his direction, "Is there a reason I should have just left you in those woods to die?" The silence hung heavy in the small cabin, but it seemed to speak volumes. That's when the realization hit her and she immediately regretted both her words and tone. For the first time she wished she could see him. "How long had you been running when I found you?"

"Nearly four days."

Falon stilled. Four days running while wounded and without food or barely any water. She had seen men perish under less extreme circumstances. When the lantern swung wildly overhead, the light caught the silver-blue banding along his arm. She had been curious about them from the start, but the more she learned of the elf, the more hesitant she was about inquiring about them. But at that moment, she had to know. It almost felt as if he wanted her to know.

"Fenris…how did you get those markings?" she finally asked.

If the silence before had been heavy, it was nearly suffocating now. For the briefest of moments, she thought she saw the lyrium flare to life, but it was gone.

"My mas-, my _former_ master," he simply stated. At first she thought that it would be all the explanation she would receive, but suddenly he continued, "The process had been so painful that I do not remember my life before it. I have recovered bits and pieces, fragments of fragments of memoires, but it is…difficult to remember." Falon shifted in her bunk, but was unable to make out the elf. His voice had become low, almost pained, and it unsettled her. "I am told that they were not forced on me, that I… I had competed for them in order to free my mother and sister. The same sister who betrayed me and led the magister to me. I am here because I realize now that there is hardly any place that my former master's power and influence cannot reach, so perhaps it is in the wilds that I can finally lose him."

"Do really think you can escape him that way?"

"It is what I am inclined to believe."

She was uncertain as to what to say to him. 'I'm sorry' felt too hollow, as if she pitied him and his plight, and the elf was not one that seemed to either except or bestow pity. Every phrase she thought of that expressed some sort of condolence seemed inadequate. In the end, the oil in the lamp overhead burned out and they were left in the darkness.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

There were few memories of Bartrand that actually brought a smile to Varric's face. Most of them either included his older brother completely intoxicated or when he couldn't see straight, but there was one time that he could recall where his brother actually acted as an older brother, even if he didn't realize it.

It had been shortly after their mother had passed away, and Bartrand, obviously drunk, pulled him aside.

"The stone weeps," he blurted out. "The stone weeps, it bleeds, and it cracks." At the time, Varric tried to shrug off his brother and his drunk ramblings, but the other dwarf snatched him by the shirt and embraced him. "You can't mend the stone," he said. "But you can forged something greater from the pieces."

As the dwarven merchant leaned on the railing of _The Eel_, his brother's words echoed in his ears. It was perhaps the most significant and profound thing his brother had ever said to him, yet he had been too drunk to even remember or too proud to admit it. But even so, it was one thing to mend stone, it was another to rebuild it from next to nothing.

Twenty years, nearly twenty years of blood sweat, and tears destroyed in one night. Sure he had other residents besides Kirkwall, but after the lengths taken to destroy the Hanged Man, the chances that his other hideouts were untouched were next to nothing. Trading manifestos, ships logs, guild documents, everything except for what was on his back, gone.

Whoever in the Merchant's Guild was behind this, he was going to make sure they got what was coming to them. But first things first, if he was going to make a comeback, he was going to need resources to do it. Varric checked his left breast pocket just to reassure himself that the map was still there. Of most of his possessions lost, excluding Bianca, the map would have been a real crippling blow. Just then, Daisy popped up from below deck only moments after she went down. Varric had warned her this time around to keep her distance from Fenris despite what had happened back in Kirkwall. Both hadn't missed the warrior's last ditch effort to escape the Crows. What Varric didn't understand was why the elf saved the mage.

"Everything alright, Daisy?"

"Of course, well besides Falon being seasick and all. I tried to convince her to come up, but she refused."

"Best leave her be then. She seems the type that knows how to best take care of themselves."

"I guess you're right, but I'm more worried about her being down there with Fenris. They don't really get along too well, do they?"

"As long as we don't hear the sounds of a swordfight or death throes coming from down below, I think we'll be fine."

Daisy joined him by the railing and leaned over to watch the water streak past the bow of the ship.

"It feels good to be traveling again, doesn't it, Varric? Well, besides the part where we were chased out of the city by assassins and there might be slavers hunting us."

Varric chuckled, "Sure, despite all that, it's good to have a change of scenery I suppose."

"Will you be alright, for the future, I mean?"

"Don't you worry about me, Daisy. I've bounced back from rougher spots than this," he said with a guarded smirk. "For now, let's just focus on the task at hand."

"Alright then," she said with a smile.

The wind picked up from the north and the small little skiff lurched forward. Varric glanced back at the old man at the helm, but the grimy sea rat had the same far off look he did when they finally reached open water. Even when the storm hit, he didn't lose that dreamy look. He just shouted out orders to him, Fenris, and Daisy to secure lines and rigging as the small boat was tossed about like drinks at the Hanged Man.

He was amazed that the little skiff had survived the sound thrashing, but Senchel had been true to his word that the ship would pull through. Now the only problem was convincing the senile old sailor that they were his passengers and not his crew.

"Elf! Hey elf!" The mage spun around to the old captain as he pointed towards the side of the boat. "Make sure those mooring lines are secure. I don't want the rigging to come loose like last time."

"Right. Um, which one is the mooring line again?"

"Here, I'll get it," Varric said.

He by no means claimed to be a dwarf of the sea, but he had spent enough time on the water to have a fair amount of sense on how a ship worked. Fenris, on the other hand, well let's just say that if Isabela ever saw him working on a ship, that book wouldn't be the only thing she would have run off with. During the storm, the white-haired elf was everywhere at once securing lines, releasing them, climbing up and down the rigging with ease, while Varric could barely manage to walk across the deck without stumbling over his own feet. The dwarf quickly looked over the ropes and when they were secured to his satisfaction, he joined Senchel at the helm.

"So, were you finally able to plot out a new course for us?" Varric asked as he leaned against the railing.

Senchel grunted before pulling out a ragged map that had seen better days, "It's bad luck to change ports in the middle of open water."

"Yes, well, I'm sure lady luck will turn a blind eye this one time considering the shit we've gone through already. Have you plotted a new course or not?"

"Hmph, well's there's not many ports west of Jadar, but there is a fishing village called Barnegat that is a few days north of Halamshiral. We could set a bearing there, but there've been rumors floating around those waters. They say the water's tainted."

"What, have the darkspawn somehow grown fins now?"

"No, just sailors get a feeling every now and then is all."

Varric checked the map and compared the routes that would take them to Jadar and the one that would lead them to Barnegat. From his calculations, if they made port at Jadar, it would add at least two weeks of journeying on foot. However, if they landed in Barnegat, they would add an extra three days to their voyage and maybe travel another three on foot to resupply at the city of Halamshiral. But at the same time, they would land on the western side of the Frostbacks, which meant a clear path south and straight into the Dales from the city.

"So tell me, Senchel, is an extra ten sovereigns enough to get past these rumors, or should we cut our losses?"

"As long as you're good for it, Master Dwarf, _The Eel_ is at your command."

Senchel pulled on the wheel and the bow of the boat turned slightly to the west. Varric was never one to ignore a rumor, whether it be just the local drunken gossip or a tip from one of his eyes and ears. But a real and solid threat usually always trumps the rumor and right now, he rather take his chances with Barnegat than the Crows.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Nearly twelve days had passed since their departure from Kirkwall, and despite the first big storm, they had made good time thanks to clear skies and good winds that came after. Varric was in high spirits and surprisingly, so was the majority of his party. Both elves seemed to have established some sort of boundary between the two of them. Enough so that Varric didn't have to worry about leaving Fenris alone in the same room with the little mage. But despite how nicely his two elvhen companions were playing along, his ranger friend looked to be at the end of her rope.

As skilled in seafaring as Fenris was, it was the polar opposite with Falon. As soon as she had stepped aboard the ship, it was like watching a tree in winter shrivel up and die except it wouldn't die but just linger on in a miserable little hole below deck. Still, when Varric did go down into the cabin, he half expected to find her dried out husk in her bunk. He could count on one hand the times she did venture out on the deck, but that was only after Daisy practically dragged her out.

Overhead, the skies were a dark gray color, but there was no smell of rain in the air. Daisy had picked up a habit of writing down in a small leather bound book that was steadily being filled with various notes and sketches. The mage was now sketching and taking notes on a black headed seabird that had appeared a few hours ago.

Just then, the door to the lower cabins opened and out walked the group's personal one-man army. After his performance the first couple of days on _The Eel_, Senchel, in a way, had unofficially dubbed the broody elf his first mate. Neither warmed up to the other, but it did show that the old sea rat trusted Fenris enough to man the helm at night. It was still rather early in the day for the elf to be up, and already Varric could see his characteristic glare that signaled that the elf had been brooding hard on something unpleasant. Fenris glanced over at the mage then made his way to the bow of the ship.

Despite all of them being crammed together on such a small ship, Varric had not been able to talk with Fenris about what had happened in Kirkwall. Granted, he and the elf were never much for deep conversation, but even Varric needed to clear the air with this one.

"So, how fares our broody elf turned seafarer?" Fenris didn't even spare the dwarf a glance besides a slight twitch of an eye. "What too enthralled with the sea and its enchanting beauty?"

"The only thing remotely enchanting with all this will be the coastline on the horizon. At that point, I'll know that this will soon come to an end. If I have to listen to her inane babbling or another one of her obnoxious tales…."

"Try to restrain your excitement, elf. Don't forget that we get the pleasure of traveling in each other's company for the next couple of months."

"I haven't. At least once we on land again there will be a greater number of excuses besides myself as to why you or her will suddenly turn up dead one morning."

"Oh-ho, always the diplomatic warrior, and here I was thinking that we're such tight knit friends."

The elf didn't seem to even hear him, but his words lost some of their earlier edge, "I did not mean-"

"I know what you meant, and if you weren't ready to rip something to pieces about now, you would start to worry me. Besides, you're not the only one who's getting a case of cabin fever. Even I'm half tempted to chuck you overboard."

"Even I know you're not that stupid, not with having so few as it is for this hair-brained adventure of yours."

"Getting a little overconfident in ourselves, aren't we?"

"It is not overconfidence if it's a fact."

Varric laughed, "I'll agree to that."

For several moments they stood in silence as the gray clouds rolled overhead. Every since leaving the seas near Kirkwall, the water had turned from a murky gray to an almost clear, dark blue.

"So tell me," Varric began, "what brings you out so early in the afternoon?" Fenris's expression was unreadable, but Varric took a wild guess. "Would it have to do with the half-dead ranger below deck?"

There was a slight twitch in the elf's jaw muscle and Varric knew he had hit the bull's eye.

"Should we trust her?" the elf asked.

The question caught him somewhat by surprise, but Varric knew where it was stemming from.

"Daisy seems to," he said, but got a glare in reply, "but yeah, perhaps not my strongest point." Varric reclined on the railing as he regarded the elf. "She seems legitimate enough. She did help us in a few tight pinches back in Kirkwall, not to mention the whole thing with you and the slave hunters."

"That's what I'm implying."

"What?"

"It's rather convenient that she appeared isn't it? Not to mention she comes to our aid only when we need it most."

"Perhaps it's just a coincidence?" the dwarf suggested.

"You think that's all it is?"

"Well, that or she may just like you. We both know how much of a charmer you are."

Fenris glared down at him and Varric hoped he wouldn't start glowing.

"You are very annoying at times," Fenris stated.

Varric smiled, "It isn't intentional, I assure you." Fenris pulled himself from the railing and made to head towards the cabins before Varric stopped him. "Alright, look, the way I see it is we don't have many options, that's why the ones we take, we have to think carefully about. Do we know much about this ranger? No, but what we do know is that she clearly shares a mutual distaste for Imperium mages and Crow assassins. And if she's willing to add her sword to ours in a fight, then that's a plus for me."

"And you don't find it peculiar that we will be following a human that claims to know the way through a forest that was once an ancient homeland of the elves?"

"You're asking me? You and I spent six years following a Ferelden apostate and we both know how well that turned out. The way I see it, if we watch each other's backs, we should be able to handle any future "surprises" should they occur. Right?"

Varric took the elf's disgruntled huff as a yes.

"There's one more thing I wanted to ask."

"And that would be?" the elf replied.

"You mentioned Falon's appearance in Kirkwall, but what happened before with Daisy and the gate? You might have had a better chance of fending off those Crows if the both of you were trapped, but instead you threw her to the other side."

The elf was silent for a long time, and for a moment, Varric wasn't sure if he would answer.

"Back when I still served Denarius," Fenris began, "my first priority on the battlefield was to ensure the survival of my master and any other mage in his service." Fenris's face was impassive, but his knuckles were turning white from gripping to railing. "Old habits die hard, it seems."

Varric had a slim shred of hope that his actions might have meant something different, but perhaps that was asking too much of the elf. Before Varric could comment, the door to the cabin opened again and out stepped the ranger. At least, he believed it to be the ranger. She hadn't seen the light of day in almost four days. Even Fenris was perplexed to see her on deck. Clearly she was not faring any better, but there was an eagerness in her step that uneased Varric. Even more interesting was that she had on her full attire right down to her sword and dagger.

"Well, and here I thought you were dead," Senchel called form the helm.

Falon took no notice of him as she gave an abrupt greeting to the mage before joining her. Daisy immediately jumped into some long winded explanation, but the ranger was only half listening to her. Every few moments she would gaze across the southern water with what the dwarf hoped was anticipation. She tore her gaze from the sea and found them. Falon gave Varric a somewhat hesitant nod before returning to Daisy, but her eye never strayed far from the southern horizon and its ever growing horizon.

"Good news," Varric said. "We should hit landfall shortly after twilight."

"Hmm," the ranger replied without taking her eyes off the water.

Varric suddenly had an uneasy feeling in his gut.

"Are you feeling any better, Falon?" Daisy asked.

"I'm fine."

Still the woman did not avert her insistent watch. It was only when Daisy gently rested her hand on her forearm did she look away.

"What's wrong?" the mage asked.

Falon paused then shook her head, "It's nothing. The ocean just unsettles me. It will pass once we're on land."

Varric watched as the ranger finally retreated to the center of the deck to rest against the mast. With her back to him, he was unable to read her features, but the nagging feeling only grew worse as the sun sank lower in the west.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The sheer cliff wall at the entrance to the bay loomed high above them and disappeared into the mist overhead. Mere hours before, she had been enjoying the sound of the waves lapping against the sides of the ship but now, in the fog and darkness that shrouded them like a cloak, the steady thump of the waves on wooden hull seemed deafening and intrusive. It was unsettling.

Falon did not speak more than a few words to anyone as both she and Fenris prowled the railings of the ship and peered out into the darkness. Even Varric seemed to sense that something was out of place. Then, out of the mist, a sweet, haunting melody drifted over the water. At first, she was entranced by such a beautiful sound. But as it grew in volume and more of the music reached their ears, she realized that all of them were turned towards the mist and searching for the source of such a divine song.

It was serene, happy, and mournful all at once. It reminded her of the sweet lull of the leaves in fall. The fresh scent of the first spring rain and the biting cold one felt in the depths of winter. It was as if the music was being sung for her and her alone. As if the singer knew what was at her core of her being and was calling out to her, beckoning her. She didn't know why but she knew. And as the warbling notes echoed off the cliffs, she had an urge to climb over the railing to seek out the owner of such an enchanting voice.

It was the loud splash and the icy spray of water that jolted her awake.

"Damn it, Merrill help me!"

The mage turned around and could barely understand what she was seeing. Falon was on top of Varric with a knee pinning the dwarf between his shoulder blades while at the same time struggling to tie the dwarf's hands behind his back. All the while, Varric was fighting like a rabid animal trying to dislodge the woman as he spewed every imaginable curse word at her.

"Falon! What-"

"Stop him, Merrill!" Falon shouted. "Don't let him get into the water!"

It was then that Merrill spotted Fenris at the bow of the ship. His sword lay abandoned a few feet away as the elf slowly approached the edge of the deck. His foot stepped onto the railing as he held onto one of the ropes for balance. He then made to stop out into the empty air until Merrill grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back with all her strength. They toppled back on deck in a heap of robes and armor. Merrill struggled not to be crushed but found herself pinned beneath him.

Slowly, Fenris rose and when he turned to regard her, she nearly gasped. Instead of anger or revulsion, he turned his head slightly and regarded her with half-lidded, vacant eyes. The song in the mist grew louder and Fenris turned towards it.

"Do you hear it? It's…"

He slowly began to untangle himself from her but before he could get away, Merrill grabbed his armor.

"Don't listen to it, Fenris! It isn't what you think."

For a brief moment it looked like his mind was his own once more, but just as quickly as it had appeared it vanished. Merrill gasped when the lyrium in his skin began to glow. His hand rose from his side and hovered over her chest just as the mage released him and struggled to get away.

"Fenris, it's me, it's Merrill!"

The strike came fast and hard. Fenris's head lurched forward as his full weight fell on top of her. He was out before he hit the deck. Merrill glanced up to see Falon panting slightly and throwing what looked like an oar to the side.

"Hurry," Falon gasped as she helped roll Fenris off her, "we need to get them below deck."

Falon didn't wait for her as she began hauling Fenris across the ship. As she did, the song changed and became a more lively melody. Merrill knew she shouldn't, but the notes drifted over the water and the ship, and the mage couldn't help but stare longingly over the railing. Before she knew it, she had taken a step towards the side of the ship, then another, then another, then another...

The blow came out of nowhere and hit her with such force that her head snapped to the side.

"Merrill, get a hold of yourself!" The sharp sting in her left cheek helped clear her head and it was then that she realized the ranger was standing before her. "I can't do this without you, Merrill! Do you hear me?"

"I-I hear you, Falon," she was finally able to say.

She was still able to hear the song, yet Falon's blow had helped dull the effect. But even with the mage's reply, the ranger didn't let her go for another few moments.

"Alright," Falon said finally, "try to ignore it. Sound off potion ingredients, tell a story, anything, but don't sing. You'll attract it to the ship. Now help me get Varric and Fenris below deck."

Falon grabbed one side of the elf while Merrill grabbed the other and the both of them somehow managed to maneuver the lanky elf down the stairs and into the cabins. Varric however was still awake, and shouted curses at them as they dragged him down the stairs to join Fenris.

"Can't you hear it? Why don't you hear it? Damn it you two faced wood rat! She's calling, she's-"

"What's going on and what happened to them?" Merrill asked as Falon closed the cabin door behind them.

"It's a siren," the ranger replied as she made her way to the helm. "Their songs enchant sailors to jump off their ships and down into the ocean so they can feed off them. Fenris and Varric will be fine once we're back on land."

"What about Senchel?"

Falon shook her head, "He jumped overboard before I could stop him."

Merrill felt a pang of sadness at this. She hadn't been particularly fond of the old man, but he didn't seem to have the disdain for elves that other humans seemed to harbor.

"What do we do now?" Merrill asked.

"Head for the shore and avoid its song so we don't end up smashed on the rocks," Falon said as she hesitantly grabbed the wheel.

"Have you ever steered a ship before?"

"No."

"Oh, well I'm sure you'll do fine anyway."

"Thanks," Falon grunted. "Merrill, can you do something about the mist? Maybe give me some light?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Merrill concentrated and gathered as much magic as she could with the siren's song still singing in her head. Finally, a large, glowing wisp erupted from her hands. The light it gave off wasn't much, but it would have to do as Merrill sent it to the bow of the ship.

Below them, she could still hear Varric's angry shouts, but even they couldn't completely banish the song that constantly lingered around them. Twice more it changed but Falon had only to grab Merrill or shout at the mage for her to regain her senses. But even the ranger wasn't immune. Once Merrill saw the beginnings of the same listless expression Fenris had, she shocked Falon with a small spell to get her to wake up.

They continued this routine for what seemed like hours. Falon did her best to steer the small ship, but even with the feeble light of Merrill's wisp, there were a few close calls with rocks just below the surface of the water. Once more Merrill cringed when the hull of the ship scrapped the jagged stone.

"How much further do you think?" the mage asked.

"If Senchel was right, it shouldn't be too far off now."

Merrill stared into the wall of mist and shadows before them.

"I don't see any lights. Shouldn't we see lights of the harbor?"

"The fog must be too thick," Falon stated. "Just keep your eyes open and your ears shut."

"Do you- Falon look out!"

The ranger didn't catch the wheel fast enough as _The Eel_ lurched forward with a screeching of splintering wood and metal. Merrill snatched a hold of Falon before she could go flying over the side of the ship. Suddenly, the ship lurched again as the stern was pulled around and slammed against whatever it was that they hit. This time Falon was knocked loose as both she and Merrill tumbled down the steps from the helm and onto the deck.

"Ugh, what in the Void did we hit," Falon groaned as she pulled herself up. "Oh."

Merrill brushed off the few splinters of wood from her robes and followed Falon's gaze. She gasped when she saw the wreckage that had been the bow of _The Eel_, but what was even more surprising was the amount of wooden pier that the ship had destroyed. The ship groaned beneath them. Merrill swore she could hear water running and hoped that they weren't sinking.

"Well, at least we found the port," Merrill stated. Falon didn't reply right away. Her head was tilted at an angle while she had a peculiar look on her face. "Falon?"

"Do you hear that?"

Merrill listened, but everything was drowned out by the noise of the ship and water and even….

Merrill turned to Falon, "I can't hear the song anymore."

Falon scrambled to her feet with Merrill right behind her, "We need to get Varric and Fenris and get off the water now!"

The clouds over head began to part allowing them the half-moon's pale light to aid them. But as they reached the cabin door, a high pitched churr followed by a series of soft clicks made them freeze. Falon nodded to the side of the railing and that's when Merrill saw the scales flash in the moonlight.

"Merrill," Falon whispered, "how skilled are you with primal magic?"

Neither looked away from the water as they took out their weapons and slowly edged to the cabin door.

"I'm good with lightning and ice."

"What about fire?"

"Not as good as one might hope. But I know curses."

Something large slapped the water behind them and sprayed the deck with icy cold water.

"Don't waste your time with curses and don't use lightning. Everything's covered in salt water. You'll fry us just as easily." There was another high pitched churr right before something slammed into the side of the boat. "Use whatever else you can to hold it back."

Merrill barely had time to confirm the ranger's orders when a small, screaming tidal wave ravaged the port side of the foundering ship. Merrill was just able to get to her feet in time to see a long blue-gray, scaly tail come sweeping over the deck. Merrill retreated to the stern of the ship and was finally able to see what they were up against.

She, for it had the torso and upper body of a woman, was at least twenty feet long with a long sinuous body like that of an eel. The siren's skin was deathly pale which made her appear white. Her long, sharp fingers were webbed and her eyes were a bright yellow. Along her spine from the nape of her neck to the tip of her tail were multitudes of silver barbs that glittered dangerously in the moonlight. The siren caught Merrill's gaze and smiled at her. In the moonlight, the mage was able to see the rows of razor sharp teeth.

A dark figure suddenly broke off from the darkness to cut deep into the siren's side. The creature screeched and thrashed, but Falon quickly retreated before she could land another blow.

"I could use some help, Merrill!"

The mage was already on it as she summoned her power form the Fade. Nature magic surged around her as she called it from the bottom of the bay, and as the siren dove for the ranger, a massive chunk of stone collided with her head and sent the siren reeling.

The siren turned her sights on the mage and hissed, but as soon as she was distracted, Falon dashed forward and delivered a series of cuts with her sword and dagger before she was forced to retreat again. Their game of cat and mouse was stretched out for longer than Merrill had thought possible, but when Falon began to show signs of fading and the siren did not despite the all the spells the mage threw at it, Merrill knew they were in trouble.

It was then that Falon faltered and tripped over a broken piece of the deck. Seizing the opportunity, the siren lashed out with her tail. The ranger cried out but was cut off when the impact sent her across the deck and into a heap a few feet from Merrill.

The mage didn't turn to see if the ranger was alright. Instead, as the siren slowly advanced, Merrill focused on the strongest spell she knew and desperately tried to call the power from the Fade.

'Please,' she thought.

The siren was getting closer. The cuts from Falon's blades littered the creature's body but were proving to be only a minor hindrance.

'Please,' she pleaded, 'don't fail me.'

The siren was now almost directly upon her. She could feel the spry of the creature's saliva as it hissed angrily at her.

'No, I just need a little more time.'

The sharp click was all that she heard before the siren threw her head back with a horrible screeching scream. Her hand clutched the gaping hole where her eye had been but was now occupied by a crossbow bolt. Merrill barely had time to register Varric taking aim again or Fenris cleaving several feet of the creature's tail off. All of her focus returned to her spell as the final tendrils that separated the magic of the Fade from this world were cut.

"There!"

Power unlike she had ever called on before surged through her. It was wild and fierce as it leapt around her feet before raining down on the creature in a furious assault. The siren struggled to retreat to the water as the fire blistered her flesh, but a well placed bolt struck her in the arm and pinned her to the deck. It was no haunting melody that came from her now, but a horrible, savage scream that was only ended when Falon's sword pierced her heart and Fenris separated her head from her shoulders.

Merrill didn't realize what she had done until the magic in the air dissipated and she was left with a racing heart and trembling hands. Even Falon looked surprised by the magic she had woven.

"You know," Varric said, "when it comes to slaying monsters, I'm all for savoring the victory as much as the next guy, but if you haven't noticed, the ship _is_ on fire."

Sure enough, the sails were little more than billowing furnaces and the flames were steadily eating up the rigging. The four of them hastily grabbed their gear and what provisions they could before leaping into the water. With the siren still fresh on their thoughts, the swim and scramble up the pier had been done in record time, yet none of them stopped until there was solid earth beneath their feet.

Around them, the dark buildings appeared deserted and condemned. Already the forest had reclaimed parts of the town. Overgrown vines and weeds clung to the sides and roofs of most of the houses like thick green carpets. They found a resting spot just a short distance away from the pier where they were able to see the last of _The Eel_ burn. All the while, the memory of the screeching siren chased them and it wasn't until the ship finally sank to the bottom of the bay did her eerie screams seem to cease.

"This town, it looks deserted," Merrill practically whispered.

"With something like that living in their bay, it's hardly a question why," Varric mumbled. "I guess I shouldn't ask were our dear friend the captain is." Falon shook her head. "Then mind explaining why I had to wake up bound like a neat little package and next to a seriously pissed off elf?"

The ranger glared at him from under the brim of her hood, "It was either that, or we could have just let the two of you go for a swim with that charming creature we just met."

Varric paused for a moment and then lit up with a sudden realization, "Shit, why is it that every time we encounter a creepy song or some weird enchanting melody, it's the dwarf that falls for it?"

Falon gave Merrill a questioning look, "What is he talking about?"

"It's a long story." However, the mage couldn't help but laugh a little at Varric, "You're forgetting that we had to put Fenris down there with you, too."

Varric huffed and started pulling off his water-logged boots, "And just why weren't the two of you affected?"

"We were, but a siren's song is more potent with the opposite sex," Falon pointed out. She then pulled at her right arm which for the entire time had been hanging limp by her side. Falon's hand flopped around before she finally set it in her lap.

"What's wrong with your arm?" Varric asked.

Falon reached over and grimaced as her fingers dug into her right shoulder. A few seconds later, she had a thin two inch barb between her fingers. She then produced a small pouch and dropped it in it.

"They're poisonous, but not lethal. If you don't get them out fast enough, they start to release a toxin that paralyzes the body. I only left one in, so my arm should be alright within the hour."

"You seem to know a lot about them," Merrill said, "even though you don't care too much for the ocean."

"Well, sirens are just one of the reasons that I don't like the ocean."

Merrill dug through her sodden pack and was able to find some elfroot. She approached Falon in an attempt to help bind her wound, but when she went to peel back Falon's bracers, the woman quickly turned the mage away before taking the herb with a quick thanks. Without even bothering to unfasten her armor, Falon shoved the herb between the leather and her skin and wrapped a messy bandage around all of it.

"Well," Merrill sighed, "at least we made it across the sea in relatively one piece."

"Which was harrowing enough on its own," the warrior grunted. "One can only imagine what an uninhabited, ancient forest and lost tomb have in store for us."

* * *

**A/N:** Have I ever sailed before? Nope. Did I have to do a couple hours of research for just this one chapter and other brief parts involving ships? Hell, yes. Bottom-line: Take the nautical jargon throughout this story with a grain of salt.

Damn it, where's Isabela when you need her…oh, that's right.

Anyway, thank you to all who read an reviewed. It's all very much appreciated. See ya, next time!


	10. The Road Less Traveled

**A/N**: I own nothing…damn you Bioware and all your greatness. Also, language translations are at the bottom for quick reference. Enjoy.

* * *

In sleep we lie all naked and alone, in sleep we are united at the heart of night and darkness, and we are strange and beautiful asleep; for we are dying in the darkness and we know no death.

~Thomas Wolfe

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Patience, she believed, was not something that one is simply born with. At least, it was definitely not with her case. However, she did know that patience was something that could be learned and cultivated just as any form of training. Years of hunting, stalking, and moving within the shadows had disciplined her in the meaning of patience and taught her when to wait for the opportune moment to strike. However, all those years of discipline were proving to amount to nothing because she was almost positive that the small group she was traveling with was literally insane.

"So the nug turns to the bartender and says, 'Well, I at least thought it tasted good.'"

Varric and Merrill burst out into fits of laughter. Falon hadn't been following the story, but when she glanced behind her shoulder, she was unsurprised to see the elf with the same sour expression on his face. He immediately caught her looking at him and she turned her sights back onto the road.

"Insufferable bastard," she mumbled to herself.

"What's that, Falon?" the mage called a few steps behind her.

"Nothing, just talking to myself."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Falon sighed, "No, you didn't…just never mind."

She had to admit it was rather…different being around a mage like Merrill. She was very quiet at times, especially around those she didn't know, but like the flip side of a coin, she had a curious, almost innocent, nature. Combine that with her lack of social experience outside her clan, and the mage had the most extraordinary tendency to say some to the most peculiar things. Falon thought she had gotten used to it, but every once in a while, Merrill would surprise her. And of course, one couldn't forget the fact that she was a blood mage. Albeit one with boundaries, morals, and the most naiveté behavior towards demons and spirits, but a blood mage none the less.

Merrill's voice suddenly broke the silence and pulled Falon out of her quiet contemplation, "It must be nice now that your back on dry land and amidst the trees again, Falon."

She wanted to point out to the mage that they were still in territory that she had not hunted in years and that she had only the vaguest impression of what roamed the woods now, not to mention that there were a few in her present company that put her on edge more so than their voyage or Kirkwall ever did.

Instead, she simply replied, "It's good."

"So it's safe to say that you spent most of your life in the forest, right?" Varric asked.

"Yes," Falon replied without looking back.

"And you don't visit cities or towns too often. What do you do when you have to go to sleep?"

"I sleep on the ground?" she replied hesitantly. She didn't quite understand his question.

"But you don't have tent, just a small little bedroll," the dwarf pointed out. "What do you do if it rains?"

"I usually will build a shelter, find a tree to sleep in, or a cave if the territory allows it."

"Oh, like those strange humans with the scraggily beards that we would sometimes find in the forest," Merrill said. "What were they called again? Oh, yes, hermits. They would sometimes talk to animals too, but I also would notice that they talk to other things like rocks and sticks. Are they also considered rangers, Falon?"

She heard Varric chuckle behind her but opted to remain silent as she continued to lead them down the road. Falon silently begged Merrill to shut up just this once. It was bad enough Fenris was taking a jab at her almost every mile, but he didn't need the mage supplying him with any extra opportunities.

"And what other similarities do rangers share with half-crazed men wandering the forest?" came the elf's prodding remark from the back of the group. "Other than their eccentric tendency to have conversations with trees and rocks."

'Do not reply. Do not reply. Do not reply,' she continued to say in her head, but she could feel the muscles in her arm tense the moment he opened his mouth.

"I don't see what's so strange about being able to speak with the trees," Merrill said. "In fact, I think it would be quite useful. You would never be lost because you could always ask for directions."

"And I suppose you find talking with beasts to be perfectly normal?" the elf replied.

'Back _off_,' Falon thought to herself.

"Well, I suppose so if they could talk back. I really wouldn't know since our clan didn't have a keeper of the halla for a long time. I've always wondered what halla thought about all day. Do you know, Falon?"

"I never really took the time to ask, so no."

"Wait a second," Varric said, "you're saying you can actually speak with animals?"

"Not all, only the ones that are clever enough. How else did you think I was able to coax a halla away from its elves?" Falon said over her shoulder.

Varric shrugged and reshouldered his crossbow, "You can't really blame me. Even I know you can't take every story you hear seriously. But I have to admit, that is an interesting talent."

"Good to know, I'll make sure to tell the bears and the spotted mountain cats that you find it so fascinating."

"So who do you talk to when you are on your own in the woods?" Merrill asked after a few moments.

Falon shrugged, "Other hunters if I come across them. Wolves mostly. They're smart and I can usually hunt with them if game is scarce."

"That must be interesting."

"I suppose," she said and without thinking she added, "They test each other a lot, especially with new members. Older wolves know how to handle themselves, but it's the little wolves that don't know when to choose their fights."

She heard the growl and shift of the dirt beneath his feet, but she knew it was no beast behind her at that moment. Still, she reached down and loosened her sword from its sheath just in case. She could play this game too, the only difference was that she rarely lost. Besides, it wasn't much of a challenge when your opponent was so quick to anger.

"Falon," Varric suddenly spoke up, "you've been on point since morning. How about the elf and I take the lead and you and Daisy take over rear guard?"

Falon stopped to let Varric catch up, "Fine by me."

However, her eyes weren't watching the dwarf as he passed by but the elf in black armor. He was staring daggers at her through his white bangs as she returned his glare. His hand wasn't anywhere near his blade, but she didn't miss the way his hands twitched.

"Let's get a move on, elf. We want to get there before winter at least."

He slowly walked past her and it wasn't until both he and Varric had put a good bit of distance between them, did she relax somewhat and begin to follow.

"Oh dear, I said something wrong again didn't I?"

Falon's brow furrowed as the mage fell in stride beside her, "You? No, that was all me again. Don't trouble yourself over it."

"But I do worry about it."

"Why?"

"Ever since Barnegat, you both have been rather…"

"Pissy?"

"Well, yes."

"There isn't much I can do about that."

"I think there is." Falon gave Merrill a questioning look but let the mage continue. "Fenris isn't very good at expressing how he feels. You haven't known him for very long, but by what he's been saying and how he's been acting, I think you've really upset him."

If Merrill didn't have such a serious expression on her face, Falon would have laughed at the very idea that she had somehow hurt the feelings of the warrior whose specialty was phasing through his opponent's chest and ripping out their heart.

"You can't be serious?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I am. I'm not sure what you said back in that town, but well, I know it wasn't good."

Falon sighed and for the hundredth time that day cursed her lack of discipline with these people and her stupid, flippant mouth.

"It's rather strange," Merrill whispered.

"What is?"

"When we traveled with Hawke, Fenris would always argue with her, mostly over magic. He would even bicker with me and the other mage, Anders. Anders and I, well Fenris would always speak his mind, even if it meant upsetting Hawke."

"I could believe that. So why do you defend him even though he's so adamantly against magic?"

"Hawke didn't turn out to be who we thought she was, but each time Fenris started a fight with her, Hawke was somehow able to end it without having it come to blows. Everyone may not be happy, but it could always have been worse."

"I see. So you're saying I should be more like your Hawke."

"Hawke did abandon us and handed Fenris over to his former master, so maybe not completely like her. But as much as I've tried to help him see it differently, I don't think Fenris will be able to see mages any other way."

They walked together in silence for a short while. Merrill kept her eyes on their surroundings and every once in a while would be distracted by the swirling storm clouds in the sky.

"You think I should be the one to bend this time, don't you?" Falon said quietly.

"I can't really be the one to say that. I was there, but I didn't know what was said."

Falon inwardly groaned and was half tempted to spit as she remembered what happened in Barnegat only a couple of days prior.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

_~Two Days Earlier~_

The place was a ghost town in almost every sense of the word. They were all exhausted after the fight with the siren, but there was little hope of finding refuge in on the decrypted buildings. Instead, she convinced them to move on until they reached the cover of the trees. Merrill had shown an amazing display of power back on the ship, and despite her fatigue, she was having trouble containing her excitement. The mage had explained that fire had been an element that she had never before commanded with such strength and control before. Even Varric noticed. Falon didn't think much of it at the time. Merrill had turned the tide of battle and the mage should have been proud that she had defended the group. And even though she was grateful for Merrill's magic, her main focus at the time was to get out of the open so the party could recuperate. But of course, things were never that easy.

"How typical of a mage to feel pride from so much devastation and chaos."

The somewhat easy-going mood of the group shattered around them like a stone through a glass window. Falon knew better than to say anything. The fortnight spent on that damned boat had left her malnourished and dehydrated which in turn made her short-tempered and sharp-tongued. Besides that, the three had known each other longer than she did. They should have been able to settle things like this on their own without having her to step in. Not to mention that the last few times she had had intervened had not ended well.

"Believe it or not, I didn't mean to set fire to the ship, Fenris."

"Yes, I can see how wrought you are with regret."

"Is it really so wrong that my magic aided us?"

"No, not unless what you've done was through blood magic."

"I have not used blood magic ever since our battle with the slavers in the forest," Merrill said as each word rose in volume. "And even if I did-"

"That's enough!" Falon barked from the head of the column. Three pairs of eyes snapped to attention. "If you haven't noticed, we're in unknown territory, some of us are wounded, we're out in the open, and the lot of you aren't helping the situation by being so loud everything within a three mile radius can hear us. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've had my fill of blood and violence for one night and would prefer it if something wouldn't attempt to make a meal out of us _again _tonight."

Her outburst seemed to have the desired effect. Merrill fell back in line with Varric following suit. Even Fenris grudgingly began to follow but not without adding one more of his opinions on the matter.

"I am still at a loss as of how you are still alive after all that has transpired, blood mage," he murmured.

It had been enough. The woman rounded on him and thanks to the steep incline of the hill, she had a good two inches over him for a change.

"If you're looking to pick a fight, then you can do so with me, Fenris. I told her to use her full power with that thing. I was also the one who rammed the ship into the pier, so don't let Merrill have all the credit for sinking that tub."

Fenris glared up at her, and if he had fangs, he would be baring them at her right now.

"I don't know who's more reckless, the blood mage or the disillusioned ranger. How is it exactly that you're in any position to talk about the dangers of magic?"

"I have enough sense to know when I'm in danger or not, unlike others who waste their time and energy fighting imaginary threats. Now back off."

At the time, she knew she was pushing him to some point, but her own stubbornness was refusing to back down to him again. Maybe in a city where everything was unnerving and foreign, but not here, not in the wilds which was her domain. Either he sensed her willfulness or was in no mood to drag it out further. Whatever the reason, he was the first to look away and slowly make his way past her and up the hill. Falon let him go. But just before he was out of earshot, she heard him and his spiteful remark in Arcanum.

"_Arrogantia __competens alicui __magus__.__"_

And before she could even contemplate the effects of her words, she shot back,_ "__Scires, manu gladii__."_

The sharp rasp of metal surprised her. Instincts kicked in as she flung herself down the slope. Her good hand flew to her hilt as soon as her feet hit solid ground. She crouched low and was poised to either strike or flee as she stared up the hill but all was still. Fenris was glowering several feet away with an ire he had reserved solely for mages but was now directed at her. His hand was wrapped around the hilt of his broadsword and she knew from experience that he could draw his weapon nearly as quickly as she could hers.

"Whoa, hold on, let's just calm down."

Falon didn't take her eyes off Fenris, but it was then that she noticed Varric had stepped between them. It was a pity; she knew Varric was smatter than that.

"Falon!"

The woman practically growled at the dwarf. Inside she was angry with more than the elf's sharp retorts. She was more frustrated with her own careless words that she had just thrown at him, but that didn't mean that she was going to allow him to attack without some show of self-defense.

Nor, she stubbornly admitted to herself, did it mean she could strike out at the infuriating elf because of her brashness…. Falon slowly released her sword and rose from her fighting stance. Varric visibly relaxed and turned hopefully to Fenris who was still poised to strike.

"C'mon, elf. We're not going to get anywhere if we spend every other minute trying to hack each other into little pieces."

Ever so slowly, Fenris's markings dimmed and he released his sword. Without a word, he turned and marched back up the hill. Varric made sure he was out of earshot before rounding on the woman walking past him.

"What in the Void was that all about?"

Falon managed a small grunt as she trudged on. She was still angry and didn't want to make matters worse by snapping at the dwarf. Instead, they made it to a safe spot for the night and for the rest of the trip both she and Fenris had managed to travel in a somewhat passive silence. However, the few times they did speak, it was usually only a curt reply or statement laced with ire.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Falon sighed again as she pulled herself out of her musing to catch up with Merrill. She hated this…this constant walking on eggshells. She half wished Varric hadn't stopped her and Fenris. Perhaps then, maybe between the flesh wounds and flying metal, a point would have somehow gotten across. But then again, if the elf was anything like her, he wasn't going to be forced to do anything against his will, especially with a threat of violence.

"So tell me, Merrill, how did this mage of yours keep the peace?"

Merrill quickly turned her attention away from a black and violet butterfly that was fluttering in her face and back to the ranger.

"You mean, Hawke?" Falon nodded. "I don't think you could really call it peace. Maybe more like a…what's the word I'm looking for? It's when everyone is still upset, but they all decide to not fight?

"A truce?"

"Yes! It was more like a truce most of the time."

"Alright, so how did you all manage this?"

"Not very well at times. Especially when we all first met Hawke. Sometimes we all got along fine, like with me, Varric, and Isabela. But then Aveline could not stand Isabela in the beginning and of course Fenris would rarely talk with me or Anders unless he had to. But that never seemed to bother Hawke."

"She didn't mind that her friends were at each other's throats?"

"No, I think she did, but she didn't let our differences keep her from getting to know us." The butterfly came back and landed on the small white flower that Merrill had tucked in her hair that morning. "I remember the first time she had seen me use blood magic. It was obvious she was displeased with it, so it surprised me to have her still come visit after I came to Kirkwall. Even after she became more popular in Hightown, she still found time to keep in touch with us, even Fenris."

"You sound like you miss her."

"I do, though I guess it's silly considering what she's done."

Falon didn't reply as large gray clouds rolled overhead and blocked out the sun. The trees began to sigh and sway as the wind picked up and snatched at their robes and cloaks.

"Back then," Merrill continued, "Hawke helped all of us in some way. I suppose the most shocking thing about her handing Fenris over was that even though they were not friends, Fenris seemed to actually respect Hawke in a way. You might even say he was loyal."

In the darkening sky, the clouds opened up with a half-hearted roll of thunder. Falon pulled her hood up and felt the warm rain patter against the oiled leather. Merrill hardly seemed to notice it or the dusty road turning to sticky mud beneath her feet.

"Varric had a saying for them that I thought was quite catchy." Falon nodded her head to tell Merrill she was listening. "He said they always had a way of being able to agree to disagree. I guess that was the only way Hawke was able to get things done."

When the wind began to pick up and the rain started to turn cold, Falon knew she would have to soon begin searching for a place to lead them off the road and find some suitable shelter for the night. But before she left, she turned back to the mage.

"Even after everything she did, do you regret meeting her, Hawke I mean?"

Merrill stopped and stared at her feet as she pondered the ranger's abrupt question.

"No," she said slowly, "I don't think so. Yes, I regret some of her decisions, especially with Fenris and with leaving me behind, but I don't regret meeting her. I have a feeling that if I hadn't, things would have actually turned out far worse than they did. And besides, I would never had met Varric or Isabela or have met the other elves in Alienage and learned about their plight. I grew stronger over the years in Kirkwall, and overall I think it was for the better."

"That's…a good quality that you have, Merrill. You have the capacity to forgive. You don't see that too often these days."

Merrill had a strange expression on her face that made her look as if she were both sad and happy at the same time.

"What is it?" the ranger asked.

"It's nothing. It's just I enjoy talking with you. You remind me of the Keeper sometimes. Only we don't argue as much and you don't have this disappointed look all the time."

Falon merely gave the mage a half-hearted smile as she shook her head, "I wish I had the wisdom of a Keeper, Merrill. Perhaps then, I wouldn't find myself in half as many predicaments."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He didn't belong here, that much he knew. He was a trespasser, unwelcomed and unwanted in a feral land of darkness and whispers. But he couldn't turn back. They were coming. He could not see them, but he could hear their metal, he could smell their eagerness of the hunt, and could practically feel their magic taunting him. So he ran from the false safety of the high walls and into the dark trees. But still they found him, so he ran further until the earth became water, yet he did not stop. He crossed the fathomless water until he found new lands, new earth that was foreign yet familiar at the same time.

The forest loomed before him as both a sanctum and nightmare. But he couldn't turn back. Behind him were horrors that he had endured before, but in the shadowed unknown that stood before him, there was the possibility of survival. Slim and practically unattainable, but it was there. He ran forward. He endured every cut of the thorns and stones to his face and limbs. He endured the suffocating darkness that grew thicker around him with each frantic step. All there was left was the constant fear of being captured. He wanted to fight, to tear, to claw at all that dared try to collar him again. But he could no longer see. He could no longer move. He could no longer scream. The darkness was too thick.

His body began to fail him. He had lost too much blood. He had run too long. He wished to fight, but there was no strength to call upon. He fell.

The ground was cold and hard. And although his senses had abandoned him, he knew they were close. They always came when he was most vulnerable. He shouted out into the darkness, but the shadows consumed his feeble cries. And then he saw it.

He was at the heart of the great forest, the center of its power, the resting place of its single most terrible force. He struggled to get to his feet and run from this new horror that lingered in the shadows like a constant promise of death, but already it had sensed his presence. Slowly it turned, and as it did, the shadows shifted and warped beyond the edges of his vision. The fear of the others made him run, but the sense of fear and terrifying power of the unknown creature before him made him pause.

The creature's form was unfinished and made of only mist and shadows. All but it's eyes. Bright and glowing, they cut through the darkness and fixed on him with a crimson stare. He resisted, unsure of whether to flee or stand his ground. The creature held him in place with its burning gaze. Everything that was him, his fears, his rage, his sorrow, all was laid bare before it. But there was a fury in that creature's stare. One that called to the very core of his being and it frightened him.

They were close now. Only a few moments and they would be upon him. The creature stirred and as it did, his body was his own again. He readied his sword. A savage growl cut through the silence and then the pain returned.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

It was the hand on his skin that instinctively caused him to lash out. Foreign and unwelcomed, he snatched the offending appendage as well as its owner before the tendrils of his nightmare had fully released their hold on his mind. There was a startled gasp as he threw his attacker against a tree and pinned her there by the throat. A gloved hand wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to loosen his vice-like grip while at the same time struggle for air.

"F-Fenris!" The words were hoarse and pleading, but it was familiar enough to startle his thoughts. "Wake up!"

The elf took one look at the green and brown eyes staring frantically up at him and instantly released the ranger. Falon gasped for air and fell to her knees as Fenris took several steps back. She coughed before finally leaning back to rest against the base of the tree.

"Perhaps," she rasped, "I deserved that."

"Perhaps," Fenris said cautiously.

Sleep had fled him entirely despite the trouble he had gone through earlier to attain it. Awake and alert, he was still shaken from his nightmare which with each passing moment he was forgetting more and more. The only pieces he could recall now were crimson eyes staring at him through the darkness and then Falon's presence seconds before he woke.

Fenris realized he was getting lost in his thoughts and turned back to the woman sitting silently beneath the tree. She was watching him closely. Not in a fearful way, but in a way that made him somewhat uncomfortable.

"What were you doing?" Fenris demanded.

"I was on watch," she stated. "You were murmuring in your sleep. It got worse, so I tried to wake you."

Earlier that day, the ranger had led them to a small grove of pine trees not far from the main road. The trees were numerous enough to conceal them and a fire, but sparse enough for them to maneuver easily through them. But in his usual fashion, after they had settled down for the night, Fenris broke off from the others and placed himself far beyond the edge of the firelight.

However, Fenris frowned at her statement, "You had taken the first watch already, where is Varric?"

The ranger shrugged, "He was tired and I don't need much sleep."

That was usually _his_ reply. Fenris glanced past her and between the sparse growth of trees. Both the mage and the dwarf were asleep in their bed rolls with a fire pit containing the smoldering remains of their fire. Even when he had been accompanying the others in the past, he had been notorious for letting others sleep though their shift, Varric especially. It wasn't a courtesy to others but rather himself because he either couldn't or wouldn't allow himself the small reprieve of drifting off into the Fade. However, this never sat right with Hawke, and Fenris had constantly been reprimanded by the mage each morning.

And just like that, his ire had returned. Just merely thinking of the mage and her insufferable antics made his wrath burn anew.

"Are you alright?"

He wanted to shout out to the intolerable woman no, but did his best to hold his tongue. She glanced at his clenched fists, but made no other move. As Fenris struggled to rein in his emotions, she continued to sit there passively with and unreadable expression. But just sitting there, so calm and fearless as if the events just moments before never occurred only seemed to anger him more. This woman, from the moment they met, always had a way of making him remember his past. And he resented her for it.

"I'm fine," he finally managed to say.

Even to his ears, his words were unconvincing, but the ranger still remained seated at the base of the tree.

"You shouldn't sleep away from the group like this," she said as she stared into the darkness between the trees. "You're making yourself a target."

"If I wanted your advice, I would ask for it," he snapped.

Judging by her reaction to his heated words, he might as well of said something about the weather. The moon had waned over the past few days and now only a small sliver was left in the sky. It was still enough to see by, but there were moments when the long shadows played tricks on his eyes. At the moment, he almost believed he saw the briefest hint of sadness on the ranger's face before she looked back up at him.

"Back in Barnegat," she said, "I won't take back what I said before, but my last comment, the one in Arcanum… I spoke without thinking. However, it's still no excuse and I'm sorry for offending you."

Fenris stilled as his earlier trepidation from his nightmare fled him completely. In the brief encounters between the two of them, there was always tension either from their views on magic or merely her insufferable presence. Yes, there were instances when she backed down, but while her words and body language hinted that she conceded, there was always a glint in her strange eyes that seemed to taunt him. There were moments when he felt that she knew something that he didn't. And when the confrontations would abruptly end, it was as if she were humoring him like she would an unruly child. It was not something that should have irritated him, but it did. He had been a slave for the majority of what he could remember. If he was not being talked down to, he was being talked at, however, he couldn't recall a moment where someone actually apologized for offending him. He wasn't convinced.

"What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at anything," she sighed into the night. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tree before looking back, "I felt bad, I wanted to say I was sorry, that's usually how it works. At least that's what I believe it to be. You know how good us rangers are with social graces."

Fenris's eyes narrowed, "Do you even know the true meaning of what you said?"

"About two seconds after I said it, yes." The glint in her eyes dimmed, "As I said before, I hadn't meant it in that way, but I was still out of line."

When he first heard her speak in that all too familiar tongue, his initial shock was replaced with pure anger. He had heard slurs such as knife-ear far too many times in both Common and Arcanum that it was slow to spark his ire nowadays. However, hearing the term sword-hand in Arcanum, and from a human no less, he had nearly taken her head or at least gone for her heart. In Common, the phrase sword-hand was interchangeable with a warrior or mercenary. However, it was not the case in Minrathous. The term was almost always a title that masters bestowed on select slaves and in most cases the slave had never handled a sword in his or her life. In fact, the slave's skills didn't go beyond the bedchamber. Magisters thought it humorous.

Fenris pushed the dark thoughts aside. He was an ocean and continent away at this point. It should have been enough for the time being.

"Why are you here?" he said without looking at her.

There was a pain in his jaw and he realized that he had been grinding his teeth the entire time since she had arrived.

"Because, contrary to what I might say, I do respect you."

"You know nothing about me," he shot back.

"Perhaps but I've watched you and I've seen the way you fight. You seem to understand what it takes to survive unlike Varric whose street smarts aren't going to help him where there are no streets and Merrill who…well is Merrill." She picked herself up and brushed the leaves and dirt off as she stood before him. He sometimes forgot how small she was. She was maybe two or three inches shorter than himself, but it was a trait that was disguised by the way she held herself. "I'm asking if we can agree to disagree on some things, Fenris."

"What would be the point?"

"I don't want to have you as an enemy for one."

Fenris sneered, "Don't make presumptions of me based off the company I've kept in the past. Unlike some, I keep to my word. But there are times that I do question your motives."

The somewhat diplomatic air that the ranger had maintained was slowly crumbling, "I have done nothing that would cause you or the others not to trust me."

"You have done nothing to truly gain it either."

The woman's eyes widened in astonishment while her mouth dropped slightly.

"Of course not," she hissed, "I've only saved your life twice! Three if you count the siren."

"Yes, a fine job you did there. I think I still have the lump from your spectacular rescue."

"Better a lump than having that fish pick pieces of you out of her teeth with your own rib bones."

She took a step forward until there was only a few inches between them. He noticed she had on her usual attire except for her leather coat, mail, and sword. She still had her dagger, while his own weapon and armor lay only a few feet away.

"It's like I said before," she said, "you see danger in practically everything around you."

"Has it ever occurred to you that _is_ why I have survived for so long?"

"There's a fine line between caution and paranoia, Fenris," she said evenly. His markings were beginning to glow and he could feel the lyrium burning in his blood. "You can't even…" She glanced down at his exposed arms and stopped. There was a short pause and he could see on her face the internal debate she was having with herself. Slowly, she took a deep breath and dropped her gaze. "Never mind," she said as she turned and began to leave. "Think what you want, it makes no difference to me."

But before she was gone, Fenris caught that same look of impatience and pity in her eyes that he had seen before. And instead of simply letting her walk away, he struck.

He snatched her by the back of her tunic but she twisted around and struck him hard in the ribs. He took the hit and then swiped her feet out from under her before she could get into a solid stance. She refused to let go of him and was forced to follow her to the ground as she fell. But once there, he pinned her down by bracing his arm across her chest and arms.

"We are not finished," he practically growled.

"Well, then once again, my apologies," she sneered as she tried to break from his hold. "I thought the conversation was done."

Fenris waited until she ceased struggling and her brown and green eyes were fixed on him.

"If you have something to say then say it, don't make assumptions and belittle my intelligence."

She blinked several times as almost all of her ire drained from her face, "I do _what_?"

"I won't repeat myself."

She continued to glare at him and shoved at him again, but without a solid purchase, he didn't budge, "You stubborn ass! I don't assume you're an idiot, I just stop arguing with you because you're such a closed-minded son of a bitch that after the first ten minutes of talking with you, I know it's a fruitless endeavor. Now…get…off!"

She had shoved her elbow into the soft earth and then thrust her fist into his exposed side and into his kidney. His breath was knocked out of him as she scrambled a safe distance away. While he composed himself, he heard her curse and murmur something about the mage being right. When he glanced back up from his spot on the ground, she was still there albeit glaring at him wearily.

"You want me to speak my mind, Fenris?" she panted. "Fine, here it is: I'm not you blasted Hawke! From what I've heard, she sounded like a real top notch ass and I'm tired of you assuming that everything I think and every move I make will be like her."

Her breathing was labored as her temper slowly diminished. The entire forest seemed to have grown quiet but her words still seemed to hang in the thick silence.

He didn't respond to her because he was uncertain as to what to say. At first he wanted to vehemently deny her claim and point out once again that she was making ridiculous assumptions, but he stopped himself. He remembered moments, brief instances whenever she was present. He had thought it was just healthy suspicion, but he had to admit that Hawke was never too far from the back of his thoughts. Had he really been comparing the ranger to Hawke? Where there times when he had compared Hawke to Denarius?

"Fenris." He was abruptly pulled from his musing by the quiet but firm voice of the ranger. There was no look of aggravation or annoyance or any sign of fear in her features. There was only a passive look of understanding. She slowly approached him and then offered him her hand. He looked at it uncertainly, but she didn't pull it back. "I'm not asking you to trust me, Fenris. I don't expect you to trust me. But…that's not to say that I wouldn't like to have it."

A deeply rooted part of him scoffed at her words, but another part, one that he had thought died that day in the tavern, urged him to risk it just once more. The time they spent there seemed like ages, but to his own surprise, his hand rose from the dirt and grasped the ranger's gloved one. Without a word, she helped pull him to his feet. He stood there for a moment debating his next move when Falon slowly stepped away.

"I'll see you in the morning," and with that, she slipped between the trees and back to the smoldering fire as quietly as a shadow.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Dreams…

Dreams, nightmares, premonitions…they were all the same thing. They were all the same thing when your own thoughts betrayed you every minute of every day. Yet now, perhaps he would take insanity over the nightmare he was waking up to now.

The old, musty smell was foreign to him, while the floor was frigid against his naked skin, but he hardly had the strength to move. Everything hurt, as if he had been burned a thousand times over. Yet when he opened his eyes, he could barely make out his own hand inches from in front of his face.

"Wh-…"

Even his voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in days.

He concentrated while searching for that wispy barrier between this world and the Fade, but the further he reached the colder he became…

He couldn't feel it. The Fade. He couldn't feel it.

Panic had sunk its claws into his mind. Was he Tranquil? Do Tranquil even know they are Tranquil? If he was why was he frightened?

A jolt from deep within his mind seemed to shock him from his mild delirium.

Justice.

The spirit was still with him, and if he was still with him, then his magic wasn't all gone either. There must be something else at work. Again, Anders tried to reach out to the strangely reserved spirit, but his response was little more than a weakened echo.

_Bound…we…can't…_

Too quickly, Anders realized he was not making any attempts restrain the spirit as he had before. If anything, it felt as if he had been silenced, but he had never felt a spell this debilitating before. Not only could he not feel his magic, but his very body felt as if all the vitality had been drained from him.

It was then he noticed something heavy cinched tight around his neck. His trembling hands went to it, but the moment his fingertips touched the warm metal, a merciless shock tore through his arm. He had to wait several minutes until feeling finally returned to the appendage.

This was bad.

Templars he was familiar with, but slavers trafficking in mages were something else entirely. As he attempted to get his wits under control, the memory of the room, the gas, and Apate all came hurtling back to him with painstaking clarity. Hawke had been right, they shouldn't have…

Hawke.

Anders made another attempt to rise and despite the bile at the back of his throat, he forced his legs to carry him as he stumbled forward. He nearly split his head open on what appeared to be some kind of metal which he soon realized were old, iron bars. Further inspection only revealed what he had first suspected. He was in a cell. Unfortunately, he was in a cell utterly alone with no trace of Hawke.

Suddenly, a light appeared beyond the edges of his cell. For a moment, the dimness of it felt like it was blinding him. The sound of a heavy lock unbolting was followed by at least two pairs of heavy footsteps from above him. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out what he presumed to be another cell across from his own and also the base of a rickety set of stairs. And then soon after, two male voices accompanied the looming footfalls.

"Come now, you know how Apate is when it comes to you piddling around with her stock. The last one she had saved for a magister."

"She was only mildly spoiled when I was done. Besides, nothing I did was going to compare to what that mage had in stored for that elf."

The voices were utterly unfamiliar to him, and they both possessed an accent that he couldn't place. However, he did know that wherever they were from, they didn't mean him or Hawke well.

"Still," the first voice went on, " Apate's not going to be happy if she catches you down here."

"Heh, I heard the Baiter found two more earlier this week." The more Anders heard of the second voice, the more agitated he grew. He had spent enough time in the Circle to know that whatever his intent was down here, it wasn't going to be good. "They say they weren't elves, but were still very nice to look at."

"You should watch yourself, I heard mentioned that these are no fledgling mages that had fled their sheltered Circle."

"Pfft, they have the collars on, don't they?"

"Collared dogs are still able to bite."

"If you're just going to be a killjoy this entire time, then make yourself useful and keep a look out outside. I won't be long."

The first gave some offhand remark followed by the clink of a set of keys. The lock unbolted and Anders heard the door open and close as he left. Unfortunately, he could still make out the heavy breathing of the other guard.

He pressed himself up into one of the dark corners of his cell and watched as the guard's shadow descended the steps. At his side he carried a small lantern, and as he grew closer, Anders was able to make out more and more of his prison. Across from his cell, he confirmed there to be another one as well as what appeared to be more along a stretch of hallway, though he couldn't see anyone inside of them or perhaps they were just cowering in the shadows like he was.

The guard grew closer and it was then he was able to make him out as he passed the mage's cell. He was average height with corded muscles that rivaled that of the qunari. A greasy black beard and beady black eyes drunkenly wavered over the various cells along the hallway, but that wasn't what made Ander's wary. It was the sneer and the dark look in those sadistic eyes that unnerved him.

For a brief moment, Anders felt his inside grow cold at the possibility of the guard stopping in front of his cell door. Pulling out his keys and inserting them into the door's lock…

But instead, he passed him over and instead went to another cell that nearly went beyond the eyesight of his. He watched with disgust as the guard went to his belt just like he envisioned he would and pulled out a set of keys, and then unbuckling his belt and dropping it to the floor.

Cursing to himself, he dug deep and clawed at the wall preventing him from accessing his magic.

"Just-"

He coughed, but the words were like pieces of glass in his throat. They wouldn't come out and the more he tried to force them, the more painful it became.

And then he realized just what it was that was around his neck. Memories of the qunari mage that Hawke had escorted through the underground passages of Kirkwall replayed over in his mind again and again…

Yet even if he was bound like this, he could stand by and let this happen.

'Justice…'

There was the sound of someone groaning. A woman. Instantly the resolve in him grew twice as much as a new panic in him arose. There was scuffling and several hisses and curses as the voices became louder.

Again Anders reached for his magic, now hurtling himself against the barrier and merely rewarded with a searing burn around his neck for the trouble.

From across his cell, he heard the confrontation arise into a full on fight. There were grunts and shouts as whoever was in the cell put up a decent fight against her attacker. Several times he thought he heard a body fall to the floor and believed it over only to have it continue as the guard let out another vehement curse. Failing to grasp his magic and now voiceless, he resorted to slamming his fists against the bars to no avail.

"Bitch!"

The sound of slapped flesh echoed in the silent dungeon, and he watched as the mage was sent spinning to the ground. It was then he saw her as she hit the floor close to the bars of her cell. Her lips were freshly split and bleeding while a fresh bruise was appearing on her cheek. Her vibrant blue eyes were beginning to dull, but when they fell onto him, there was a spark of recognition that was whisked away as Hawke fell unconscious.

'Justice!'

This time he threw himself against his restraints, both physically and mentally, and was heedless of either backlashes he received. The only thing that mattered was getting to her.

The panting of the guard brought him back as his mind waivered once again. He could see the scratch marks marring his face and the multiple bruises and cuts littering his eyebrows and lips. But Anders brief satisfaction in this was quickly washed away as the battered guard grabbed the woman's wrist and made to drag her to the back of her cell. It was then that it seemed his flaying had finally caught his attention. The guard looked up at him, and gave him a disgusting smirk and wink before retreating back with Hawke.

'Damn it all to the Void, JUSTICE!'

But again. Only silence answered him.

'NO!' he shouted into his mind as he slammed his hand into the bars. Too overwhelmed, he didn't even feel the sharp metal slice into his arm. 'It is because of you that you and I are what we are now. It is because of you that we are here now. And it's because of you that she risked everything! You will help her!'

It felt like he was being choked with a white-hot, metal wire as a wave crashed against the barrier between him in the Fade. And it was then he made the decision. Dropping the last of his defensive, he surrendered the last confines of his mind to the spirit and was swept away as a flood gate of power overwhelmed him.

What followed after was a blur of light and blood and screams. Whether it was the guard or his own he couldn't tell. All he knew at that moment was power. He was power. He was light. He was Justice.

But just as quickly, it came hurtling to an abrupt stop. Warmth and life seemed to have been stripped away from him in a matter of seconds. He was suddenly acutely aware of the searing pain around his neck and blood coating his arms and splattered over his torso. The bars of the cells had been torn asunder as if some beast had mauled their way out of them.

He blinked dumbly at the wreckage around him. He could smell burning blood. He knew he should be looking for someone. There was purpose for all of this. But he couldn't remember.

Somewhere in his dementia, he realized that there were three men standing before him. They were eyeing him fearfully with their swords drawn and in full armor. This time, he had the sudden urge to blast them into oblivion but hesitated because he couldn't remember why again.

"Why is he still standing," the one closest to him shouted fearfully. "He's taken at least three, how is still able to connect to the Fade like this?"

"Does it matter? Hit him again!"

He recognized the all too familiar surge of magic and the lingering essence of lyrium around the man.

A templar.

The smite hit him full force and nearly brought him to his knees. But ironically, it was the burn of their collar that ultimately kept the blackness at bay. The fire that followed came without warning. He didn't even realize it was him raising his own arms and opening his palms as a blast of fire engulfed the three.

But the absence of power was apparent now. That had been the last of it. The darkness would not be kept from him for much longer. He slowly turned his head to the side and saw a form lying on the ground. Her body was pale and almost seemed to glow in the blackness around them. Was she unharmed? He didn't know.

He made to go to her as a searing pain ripped through his shoulder and with it, the last of his reserves.

He fell to his knees gasping for air as the remnants of the Fade and Justice's power fled him. But in the flickering bouts of his awareness, he saw an elvhen face appear above him. She smirked down at him with a frame of brown hair and pitiless eyes while she carried a longbow in her other hand.

She fearlessly kneeled down in front of him and placed a hand on the side of his face in a mock display of comfort. He wanted to tear himself away from her touch with all his being, but simply couldn't summon the strength to do it. And for some reason, he felt she knew this.

"You care for her," she stated sweetly but at the same time, those dark eyes grew even darker. "That's touching, but unfortunately for you, such feelings are moot from now on. I suggest you understand your place quickly, otherwise you will be in for a very rude awakening."

He could barely comprehend her at this point.

His head…

It felt like something was slipping from the back of his mind…

Someone…

"Get one of the slaves down here and bind his wound. We're keeping him. Alive."

"You can't be serious? The mage is possessed. He took out four of my men in less than a minute. He's a liability that we can't afford to let loose onto the rest of our stock."

"Keep your pants on Varylis. It will only be for a few days, and I trust you, it will be well worth it." He was forgetting himself again. But this time, he felt like he was forgetting something more important than ever before. "Put the shackles on him as well and place him in one of the bottom holding cells. We want to make sure he isn't further damaged before our client arrives."

Neither his mind nor body could withstand it any longer, and he simply let the darkness take him.

* * *

How well do I know Latin? About as much as I know nautical terms and lingo.

How much did I abuse Google Translate? Sooo much…

_Arrogantia __competens alicui __magus__._ (Arrogance befitting a mage.)

_Scires, manu gladii__._ (You would know, sword-hand.)

Please leave a review if you have any opinions, until then, see ya around.


	11. Halamshiral

A/N: All rights belong to Bioware...still. All the other stray characters and plot devices are mine...still. Enjoy!

* * *

The content of your character is your choice. Day by day, what you choose, what you think and what you do is who you become.

~ Heraclitus

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He didn't expect Halamshiral to have improved much since his last visit, but again, his low expectations proved to be too high. After a week and a half on the road, Varric was eagerly anticipating their arrival to the city, but even he was a little put back once they crested the hill and saw the city splayed out before them. Halamshiral, once the capital of the Dalish elves, was now only a shadow of its former glory. Centuries had passed since the fall of the Dales, but the decrypted walls of the city still showed signs of the ancient siege. In some places where the gaps were too large to be ignored, uncut stone and clay were shoved in-between the ancient structures. What the city couldn't contain was spilled over into the desolate countryside. Shacks and tents spotted the sides of the road and grew in densities as they neared the city gates. However, the dry, brown grass plains that stretched form the base of Halamshiral's walls to the edge of the trees were deserted. Perhaps the state of the city was left there as a reminder of the elves' defeat or simply that the Empress or any other of the Orlesian aristocrats cared little for the city's future.

Once inside the crumbling walls, conditions weren't much better. Like most cities, Halamshiral was divided up into four sections. To the east was the High Quarter, where the more wealthy of Orlesian society resided. To the north where they had entered, was the Tavern Quarter which, as it name indicated, held most of the more livelier parts of the city. To the west was the market district, and the sough was the Lower Quarter which also contained the city's Alienage. In the Lower Quarter, the streets were little more than mud filled trenches that stunk of rotten food and waste. The only thing more off-putting than what he was walking through was the eyesores that made up the city's buildings. He used the term building loosely because most of them looked to be only shacks precariously stacked atop one another. The few true buildings he came across were mostly taverns, brothels, or the like that one would usually find in the more shady parts of town. As Varric and the others sloshed through the narrow streets and avoided the somewhat suspicious stares, Varric felt almost homesick for his little apartment in the Hanged Man. By the ancestors did he wish he had a tankard of Corff's honey mead right now. These past few dry weeks had taken a toll on him and he didn't care what the ranger said, he planned to spend the next couple of days enjoying a good pint. Besides, he still owed Fenris a bottle of wine or two for Kirkwall.

The dwarf glanced over his shoulder and couldn't help his mischievous smirk. Merrill was walking close behind him as he led through the tangled streets, but what got his attention was the two bringing up the rear. Walking side-by-side with one keeping her eyes peeled to everything that moved on the right and the other watching their left flank, was the ranger and the elf.

Varric nearly started laughing at the sight of them. Both were eyeing the city wearily like a pair of cats that had been thrown into a mabari kennel. The elf always kept an eye out for slavers and such, and considering how Orleasians tended to turn a blind eye to such matters when it wasn't convenient, the dwarf didn't blame him. And the ranger…well Falon had said over and over she had some strange aversion to cities and large crowds. But then, it wasn't the two's discomfort of Halamshiral that was so entertaining for him. It was perhaps that only a few days prior, he was almost positive one was going to kill the other at any moment. That was until one morning, he saw Falon emerge from the trees and the same direction that Fenris had spent the night.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Her hair was messed, her clothing rumpled, and there were large dirt stains along her back. Her face was rather red and there looked to be some slight bruising around her neck. When she noticed he was awake, she only gave him a curt nod and short "Good morning" before she began packing her things. He really couldn't help himself.

"Rough night?"

She glanced over at him as she put on her coat, "I've had better."

Varric nearly hurt himself trying not to laugh, but he maintained his composure, "I guess it's a good thing that he sleeps separate. Things sounded a little heated."

Falon shrugged, "It didn't get quite so out of hand. But you might be right. If we were any closer, we probably would have woken you all up." While she secured her sword's scabbard to her hip, Varric couldn't help but start chuckling softly to himself. Falon eyed him curiously, "What's gotten into you this morning?"

"Nothing, honestly," he said between bouts of laughter, but when Falon continued to stare at him quizzically, he finally said, "You work fast. Not even Rivani could break him down that quick."

"Wha-" Falon's eyes lit up with sudden realization. She frowned at the dwarf and slammed her sword into its sheath with a little more force than was necessary. "You're a dirty little man, Varric."

"Heh, I'm not the one who has mud all over her back."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Varric continued to walk down the muddy streets as he once more chuckled to himself. The ranger shot him an annoyed look but Varric shrugged it off. Fenris wasn't as easily goaded on the subject as the ranger was, but he did receive a few glares from the elf every now and then. Did he truly believe something transpired between the two? No, at least nothing that he had first thought. Of course, there was also the fact that the elf was notoriously slow when choosing a bed partner. There must have been countless blatant offerings and continuous flirting for Rivani to try to coax that icicle under the sheets. All in vain. Even Hawke's short-lived success did little to improve the elf's mood. No, whatever was said or done the other night had not been that. And since neither were willing to offer him any details and were no longer on the verge of killing one another, he would leave it be, for now.

"Falon," Merrill asked, "have you ever been here before?"

"A few times, a long time ago," she replied without looking away from the dirty side alleys. "But nothing is familiar now. Unlike its founders, this city hasn't aged well."

Varric followed the ranger's gaze up at the rotten and condemned shanties that seemed to grow higher the further they entered the city. "How long do you think it will take you to gather supplies?" she asked.

"A few days," he said. "Week at the most."

Varric inconspicuously patted one of the hidden pockets inside his coat just to reassure himself that both the scroll case and letter were still there. The message had been delivered by a street urchin not moments before he had stepped into the city. The boy had dropped the letter in his hand, turned around, and fled before he even got the first syllable out or any of the others had realized he was there. It was a plain letter with only a candle wax seal of an eye. He had inwardly heaved a sigh of relief and had shoved the letter into his coat pocket. Varric decided he would read it once he had a little more time and privacy.

"During this time, you don't expect us to stay here, do you?" Falon asked once Varric stopped them in front of a tavern aptly named, _La__Patte de__Chien__._

The dwarf was pulled from his musings as he turned and smirked at the woman, "What and have our most noble and esteemed defender of the forest subjected to the depravity of a bed? Perish the thought."

"Say what you will, Varric, but I'd bet my bow that I'd end up with more parasites on me by sleeping in that rat hole than I would sleeping an entire month outside," Falon stated while she scrutinized the outside of the tavern.

"It doesn't sound all that bad," Daisy said as she stared up at the building. "The name sounds very elegant at least. What does it mean?"

"The Dog's Paw," the ranger replied.

"Oh."

Varric really didn't understand what it was with humans and elves when it came to different eating and resting establishments. Sure, some might not be the most hygienic of places, but that tended to bring out the character all the more. Besides, it beat the cold stone buildings that were cut out of the rock and the dirt flavored beer that the dwarves in Orzammar boasted about.

"Come on," Varric interjected. "You've already shot down _La_ _Dame Rouge_ and _La Loue__Brisé__."_

"Because one was a brothel and the other had more hired cutthroats in it than _La_ _Dame Rouge _had whores," Fenris stated.

"I don't know," Merrill mused. "The women were very nice and it was rather pretty there."

Falon gave him a pointed look, but he shrugged before leading them into the tavern. Despite the rather close quarters, it was damp and chilly. There were only a few smoldering coals in the neglected hearth, but there had been no attempt to rekindle the dying flames. The bar was placed in the far back corner so the innkeeper was able to inspect them as they stepped through the threshold. The small lanterns hanging from the rafters gave off little light, but in the dim barroom, he could make out several patrons drinking along the walls and scattered tables.

The innkeeper was a tall, scrawny man. His spider-like hands were cleaning a cup with a rather dirty looking rag while his dark, beady eyes watched them enter. He quickly glanced over the dwarf before eyeing the three that trailed behind him. Despite this, Varric put on one of his most charming smiles as he approached the counter.

"My friends and I will take a round of your house whisky and two rooms for the night."

The innkeeper sniffed as he set his rag down. He then poured one glass of whiskey and set it down in front of the dwarf.

"I'll rent you a room for the night, dwarf, but your little knife-eared friends can find lodging in the Alienage."

"Alienage?" Fenris huffed. "You mean there is actually a part of town that's worse than this?"

"What my friend here is trying to say is that we've had a hard few weeks on the road and we would appreciate your understanding," he added while sliding several pieces of silver over the counter.

"My understanding is that I do not rent out to filthy elves, dwarf. Now either take the room or leave."

"An intolerant Orleasian, now isn't that a breath of fresh air," Falon mused.

"If I were you, I'd watch my tongue around my betters, elf," the innkeeper snapped back at the ranger. "One more word out of you and I'll cut it out,"

"But she's not an elf," Merrill objected. "See."

The mage pulled back the ranger's hood and hair to reveal her rounded ears. Falon shook her off and shoved the hood back in place but not before giving the mage an exasperated look. The ex-merchant prince was confused at first. It took a moment, but yes, he could see it now. The large eyes, the short stature, and her fair features. It didn't help that she wore that hood almost all the time, but Varric was still surprised that he didn't notice it earlier. Even Fenris seemed to share in his epiphany.

The innkeeper sucked his teeth before spitting out of the side of his mouth, "Claim what you want, makes no difference to me, and it will be the same for every other tavern you try to bribe your way into, dwarf. So I suggest you and your little band of forest rats leave before my patience wears thin."

Out of the corner of his eye, Varric saw the edges of a ghostly light coming from beneath Fenris's hood and braced himself. But to the dwarf's surprise, Falon placed a hand on his armored shoulder and whispered something he was unable to hear. He shook her hand off, but in a few moments, the elf drew back and he along with Merrill followed the ranger back out into the street. Varric jumped down from the bar, and leaving his drink untouched, rejoined them outside.

"That innkeeper needs to learn some manners," Fenris growled as they maneuvered through the somewhat crowded street.

"And you intended to be the one to teach him?" Falon replied.

"It crossed my mind."

"Come on, Fenris. We're in a city under Orleasian rule. If we took our time to smash the face in of every human that sneered at an elf, we would be here for the next three years."

"As much fun as it would be to start a barroom brawl with that lot," Varric mused, "we are here on business. And the sooner we find some lodging, the sooner we can wrap up our loose ends here and be on our way."

"And where exactly do you intend for us to stay? I'd rather sleep in one of these alleys than degrade myself by seeking shelter in one of those disgusting Alienages," the elf said as they stopped in front of what appeared to be the entrance of the marketplace for the less financially endowed.

"It isn't all that bad. Well, at least it doesn't look all that bad at night when it's really dark and you can't see everything so well," Merrill pointed out.

Falon crossed her arms as she leaned against the wall, "It wasn't that bad in Kirkwall. I doubt Halamshiral's standards are as high."

"Look," the dwarf shot at the three of them, "at this point, I don't really care if the bed is made out of nug hides and stuffed with wood chips as long as I can sleep in it."

One of Falon's eyebrows rose, "You do realize that you want to take part in an expedition that will require you to sleep in the dirt for the next couple of months or so, right?"

"That's precisely why I want to get as much time enjoying the conveniences that civilization provides while I can. I'm not too fond of the whole woods thing, but I can tough it out for as long as I need to."

The woman shrugged, "Whatever you say, Varric."

"Um, excuse me?"

The four turned to the young elf standing at a safe distance from them as if she were afraid to come any closer. She had dark, chestnut brown hair and large hazel eyes that didn't stray too far from the ground. She looked young, but from experience, Varric knew that wasn't always the case. However, she did have a youthful and shy air about her that said otherwise. Varric sworn he had seen her somewhere before, but was unable to place it.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure you remember me," she said hesitantly, "but we met a few years ago. Back in Kirkwall."

"I think it's coming back to me," Varric mused. "You were that girl. The one that magistrate's crazy son ran off with. Lia, right?"

She smiled a little, "Yes, I'm glad you remembered."

"Well, it's hard to forget such a sweet thing such as yourself. I didn't know your family moved this far south."

Lia tugged at a stray strand of hair before tucking it behind her ear, "Papa didn't think it was safe in Kirkwall after…"

"After Hawked decided to hand a maniac back over to a magistrate, who happened to be his father, rather than put him down like the rabid dog he was," Fenris finished for her.

Varric gave the elf an exasperated look but said nothing. The ranger however was watching the whole exchange with guarded curiosity.

"Well, yes," Lia replied. "We came here only a few months after. Papa had to rebuild his whole trade, but we do well. We even have a shop now. We have to share the building and rent with a tailor, but it's still very nice."

Merrill nodded, "That's good. It's hard starting over again. Especially in a new place."

"Thank you," she said to the mage before addressing Varric. "I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but did I hear you right? Do you need a place to stay while in Halamshiral?"

Varric smirked back at the two elves and ranger, "Only for a night or two. Just long enough for us to resupply and rest. Do you happen to know a place we could stay? It turns out that Halamshiral isn't as hospitable as we hoped it to be."

"It would only be the four of you?"

"That is correct."

"If you wish, you can come with me to my papa's shop. If it is alright with him, you might be able to stay there. It's the least we could do after what you did for me."

"You'll never see this dwarf turn down such an offer," Varric said. "Please lead the way."

Lia brought them through the marketplace. It mostly consisted of crude stalls and pallets with merchants' various wares laid out. It was all very much similar to Lowtown's own market district, though the merchandise looked more on the cheap side. As they followed the elf girl, Falon soon fell in step beside him.

"Another one of Hawke's selfless and noble deeds, I take it?"

"More like a search and rescue in service of the highest bidder," Varric stated. "The quick and dirty story was that the girl was reunited with her papa after she was abducted from some murderer claiming to be possessed by demons. We went in, saved the girl, and then handed the lunatic back into the loving arms of his dear and influential father." Varric glanced over the ramshackle streets and alleys that were a far cry from even Lowtown. "Everyone goes away happy, right?"

"I don't know, did they?"

"We'll know soon enough," he replied.

As they made their way down the crowded street, three armored destriers carrying fully armored riders easily parted the masses. Merrill's breath hitched and ducked her head as they stood aside to let them pass. When they did, he heard the mage let out a sigh of relief.

"I didn't know the templars in Halamshiral rode around on horseback."

"Those weren't templars, Daisy. They were chevaliers. You know, Orleasian knights."

"You mean those _shemlen_ from your stories? Those ones who perform, what did you call them again? Oh, right, noble and selfless deeds in honor of the just and virtuous."

The warrior next to him murmured something that sounded akin to 'foolish' and 'blood mage' but made no other remarks. Even Falon gave the mage a somewhat peculiar look but refrained from saying anything.

"Not exactly, Daisy. Most Orleasian knights aren't known for being, well, knightly."

"Then why call them knights?"

"Let's just say that you treat them along the same lines of templars and just keep your head down whenever you're around them."

"He's right," Lia said. "Most of the knights don't even bother with those from the Lower Quarter, unless maybe they are a merchant. It's the ones that don't ignore you that you have to worry about. Chevaliers don't have to answer to the guards, and it's a crime to assault them, even if you are, well, trying to defend yourself."

Merrill's enthusiasm was quickly subdued as she glanced back at the departing knights. Varric felt a little guilty in having broken the romanticized illusion he had created for her. It was the same feeling he had undergone when he had been the one to tell her that there were no more griffins left in Thedas. But it was better that they shatter the illusion than have the mage dragged off by one of the chevaliers.

The group finally arrived at a small shop that could barely be called a hole in the wall. The high pitched chime of a bell rang throughout the store. It was small and somewhat crowded once their group entered, but it was well kept and impressively clean. One side seemed devoted to miscellaneous supplies ranging from small hunting knives, to salves, and household tools. The other half of the store had a small selection of fabrics and even a few tailor-made, rough leather shoes. Merrill was instantly drawn towards the various vials and potions lined up along the wall. Meanwhile, the numerous scented herbs seemed to have caught Falon's attention. Fenris on the other hand seemed to be regarding the entire situation with a mixture of mild aversion and apathy as he watched the others peruse the shops wares.

"Papa, I'm back," Lia called.

"About time, girl. You think you had gone to the coast and back with the time you took," a voice called from the back room.

The sound of shuffle and a few bangs were heard before a red-haired elf stepped from the back. From what Varric could remember, he hadn't changed much in the past six years. But what really triggered his memory about the elf was the hint of that all too foreboding scowl that appeared the moment he recognized the three of them. The same scowl he had when Hawke handed Kelder over to the guards.

The elf threw a messy rag over his shoulder as he crossed his arms, "Lia, go into the back."

"Papa…"

"Don't argue with me, girl. Now get to the back."

Lia's gaze dropped to the floor as she fled to the rooms in the back of the small shop. Once his daughter had disappeared, the father returned his attention back to the four of them.

Varric cleared his throat, "We, ah really didn't mean any harm in coming here. If you could give me a moment to explain who we are-"

"I know who you are," he replied sharply. "At least give me enough credit that I can remember the faces of the people who pulled my daughter out of those ruins."

"Well, then not to sound to presumptuous, but perhaps you could return the favor. You see-"

"I also remember who it was you all followed into those ruins," the elf added. Varric inwardly groaned , but kept his amicable mask in place. "Hawke's certainly made a name for herself over the years what with becoming Champion and aiding in the collapse of the Circle."

"I can assure you, we quickly parted ways after that incident," Varric said as he tried to hide the disdain from his voice.

"Is that so?"

"You were unable to get retribution because you and your daughter were wronged," Fenris stated. "Considering the outcome, count yourself fortunate in a long list of those who were _un_fortunate enough to associate with Hawke."

"My daughter jumps at every shadow and is unable to step out of the door after nightfall," came the merchant's angry retort. "Do you think I consider ourselves fortunate?"

This was going south fast. If they were lucky, the elf would just throw them out with only a small amount of attention being drawn to them. He was just about to leave when Falon stepped forward.

"Um, Messere…?"

The merchant raised an eyebrow at the ranger's choice of words.

"Elren," he stated.

"Messere Elren," Falon stated, "What Varric and Fenris are trying to explain is that we're only passing through Halamshiral. We just need two or three days to rest and resupply."

"Does this look like an inn to you? Go to the Alienage if you need a bed."

"We've been told that, but we need some place more inconspicuous. Do to the obvious, Varric and I aren't going to blend in well there."

"All the more that I don't want you here. There are already enough rumors floating around about how the Chantry is keeping a close eye on him," Elren said while gesturing to Varric. "It's hard enough trying to feed and take care of your own without worrying about others who might do them harm. A _shemlan_ like yourself wouldn't understand."

"We would pay, right Varric?"

"I don't want your money-"

"Then how about a trade?"

The elf paused and scrutinized the ranger. Like any good merchant, Elren's curiosity peaked the moment a deal was mentioned.

"And what would you have to trade?"

Falon slung her pack off her shoulder began digging through it as she produced two carefully wrapped parcels and a small pouch which she placed on the counter in front of Elren. She unwrapped the first which was notably longer and thinner that the others.

"Ironbark," she stated as the white wood rolled out. The other she spilled onto the counter, "Drake scales." The last was the small pouch which she gingerly opened and pulled out with her fingertips, "And a siren's venom barb."

Varric studied the merchant carefully. He was exceptional in the way he passively observed the ranger pull out one item after another. Any other merchant would practically be drooling to get their hands on these kinds of items, but his eyes did widen just slightly when Falon placed the barb on the counter. It wasn't until Elren carefully inspected the bark, the scales, even the barb before he addressed the ranger again.

"Orlesian blacksmiths in this city are usually interested in rare materials to work with. I may be able to sell these," he said as he pushed the wood and scales aside leaving the barb to stand by itself. Varric nearly scoffed at the offhand remark. The scale alone could be sold for ten sovereigns easily. "But what am I to do with that?"

"Do you have an apothecary in the city?" the dwarf inquired.

"We do."

"Then you will have a buyer. And after seeing the effects first hand, that venom to an alchemist should be like dragon scales to an artisan metal worker. You will easily get fifty times its weight in gold."

Elren once more glanced over the various objects. Varric saw a slight twitch in his jaw and knew they had him.

"Your daughter mentioned earlier that you had to start over ever since her experience in Kirkwall," Varric stated. "With this, it would be quite possible for the both of you to make another move. Perhaps this time somewhere further east where it isn't just safer for your daughter, but more hospitable as well."

Elren eyed him from across the counter before returning to the items in question, "We do fine here for now. But it wouldn't be unwise to have some reassurance for the future."

"So do we have a deal?" the ranger asked.

Elren eyed her for a moment before giving a curt nod, "We have a deal, but at the first sign of trouble concerning you all or I even suspect that any of this is fake, then you're gone."

"It's good to see a deal work out," Varric murmured under his breath.

"You can sleep in the loft. It will be a little cramped, but at least it's warm and dry. That's better than most in this city." He took the items and placed them under the counter before leading them up a small flight of stairs.

Elren wasn't kidding when he said it would be cramped. There was barely enough room for Fenris to stand much less have them all sleep. But it was better than having to sleep on the ground or at least that's what he told himself. After Elren left, they each claimed a corner of the room and a pallet as they began to settle in for the night.

"You know," Varric mused as he crawled into his bedroll, "you could have just bribed the first innkeeper with that assortment of rare curios you had."

"As if he could have recognized the value of any of those materials. That man had his head so far up his ass every intelligent thought he might have had would be lost every time he broke wind." Varric and Merrill both got a laugh out of that. "Besides, this worked out better," she said under her breath as she turned her back to them.

Varric had to grudgingly agree. After what the father and daughter had gone through those years back in Kirkwall, he supposed he could tolerate the ranger's more than generous trade with them. Of course now he was only curious as to what else the woman carried around in that worn backpack of hers.

"Varric?"

"Yeah, Daisy."

"Do you ever think about the times when we all use to travel together? When we followed Hawke."

The tension in the air was almost tangible, but a quick sideways glance showed that Fenris appeared to be asleep. Varric knew better, but decided to oblige the mage anyway.

"It's kind of hard not to. Why ask?"

"Did you…do you have any regrets for some of the things we did?"

Varric glanced over at the warrior that had yet to move. He once more touched the letter and map that was still concealed in his coat.

"More often than you would think, Daisy."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He was wasting time here. That was for certain. The only problem was that he wasn't quite sure how to get out of here. He seemed to have deviated from his usual routine. Normally, he would waken after a few hours and would be able to set to work putting his plans into motion. Yet right now he seemed to be…stuck.

Of course, that didn't particularity bother him. It did give him more time to think, though he wasn't sure how much time had passed. He was sure it had been just a few hours. A day at most. His body could use the rest anyway what with the…with the…

"That's odd…I can't really remember what I did before my body went to rest."

He decided it truly didn't matter. It was triviality that would be dealt with later. Right now he needed to get his thoughts in order. He was still somewhat hazy on the gravity of the situation, but when he would make his eventual return, there was going to be much to do. At least now there would be fewer distractions what with…

"Now this is becoming a predicament. I can't afford to have these lapses now."

But for some reason, the longer he dwelled on these fleeting memories, he found himself becoming more uneased. Eventually he did as he had in the past and locked the distraction at the back of his mind and hoped it would simply be forgotten like all the others.

Again he attempted to refocus his thoughts, but in that instance, he sensed something amiss.

His eyes narrowed on this new intruder as it attempted to hide its presence from him. It would have been successful if not for its fluttering nerves that it was struggling to keep under control.

"You would be wise to leave now or show yourself. Those who attempt to hide from the perception of others harbor no benevolent intent."

He was surprised when this newcomer actually stepped forth. It was his experience that demons would flee at such a challenge. But when it faced him, he was momentarily caught off guard. At first, he thought it was a mortal, though he had never seen one that could master the paths of the Fade like a spirit could. No, this was most likely a demon attempting to trick him.

"By the Maker…" this new presence whispered as he stood before him. "This is even worse than I feared."

He didn't know what this stranger meant by this. But he knew it was foolish to trust any unfamiliar spirit while in the Fade.

"Don't come any closer," he ordered. It stopped short but began moving towards him again, albeit more cautiously. "I said stay back."

"I know it's been a while, but please, you have to trust me."

"You can cease your prattle now. I know these trials. I know your kind. You cannot deceive me."

"You're deceiving yourself right now. Do you even recognize your name at this point?"

"My name is Just-"

No. No that sounded right, but it wasn't true. Not completely. He felt he should at least attempt to remember this, but fear and uncertainty held him back.

"Anders." He flinched at its murmur of that word. "You name is-"

"It is not!"

He sent a force blast against this strange being, but surprisingly, it had somehow avoided it. He watched in annoyance as it skirted around him like one would a dangerous animal.

"Please, I am only trying to help. I don't think you fully realize what kind of danger you're in."

"Are you threatening me now?"

"N-No, but you have to understand, you and Hawke are-"

"Hawke?"

"Yes, Hawke. You remember her, don't you?"

He could recall something of it, yes. There was a respectable power behind that name. Something more than just nobility of the magic of the Fade. There was a soothing embrace that came with it. A comfort. A striking pair of azure eyes that looked upon him with compassion and understanding. And just as he began to feel an innate part of himself once again stir, he violently recoiled away from the memories. Again the reality of all these became grossly apparent to him. These were distractions. Minor dalliances that hindered him from something grander and far more important. He could not afford to be waylaid nor could he allow some skeeving spirit, or more likely demon, a chance to thwart him.

With a tremendous shout, he summoned a burst of blue fire and threw it at the intruder. He readied another bout of flame, but realized it was not needed. The demon was gone.

"All for the better," he murmured to himself.

He could not afford such distractions. He had a duty to uphold. He had a purpose that only he could fulfill.

He was Justice.

That was what sounded right. That was what seemed to make sense here. This was where he was meant to be. So why was he so full of dread?

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The tavern didn't have a large patronage tonight, which suited him just fine. Though he doubted its owner preferred it that way. He had warned the tavern keeper that things would be slow to start, but had lent him the coin nonetheless. Of course, he could do nothing for the man's choice of a name for the place…as horrible as it was. Still, he never enjoyed crowds, yet his protégé was always keen on them. Mostly do for the avid attention he could garnish from them with his outlandish stories and generally precocious air.

"So what's the difference between a dwarven wake and dwarven wedding?"

He couldn't help but smile as he sucked on his pipe and punctually replied, "There's one less drunk at the wake."

The red-haired youth chortled raucously despite the theft of his punch line. He was still short for his age, even for a dwarf, and little on the scrawny side, but that didn't take away from his natural charm even when he was close to knocking his cup of water over the table. He had bright red hair, and the smuggler was hard pressed not to notice the stark resembles between him and his father. At least the boy only inherited his looks and not the dwarf's sour disposition and lack of clemency.

"Alright, if you're so funny, you tell one," the youth laughed.

He chuckled to himself as he dragged on his pipe before slowly exhaling the sweet smoke, "What does a witty dwarf and a unicorn have in common?"

"Both are extremely sought after?"

"They both don't exist."

The youth gave him a somewhat stern look, but he knew a good-natured barb when he heard one and was soon joining in on the mirth of it. When the man finished his pipe, he took note of the darkness outside the window and emptied his bowl into the fire.

"Come on, it's getting late, and if your mother finds out I brought you here again, she's going to have my eye and I'm already down to the one."

"Afraid of little dwarf mothers now, are we?"

"And for good reason. Trust me, boy, don't get in the way of a mother and her son, especially if they can bash your head in as well as their men can."

"If you say so," the red-haired youth replied.

The streets were relatively cool despite the arrival of spring. Even this late, he took the back streets, knowing that the majority of cutthroats and muggers would be prowling the more lucrative areas at this time. Still, it never hurt to keep a sharp eye out, especially if you only had one good one.

They had just made to one of the market streets and were close to the dwarf's home when he heard a distinct ring behind him. He spared a glance over his shoulder as the youth tossed a noticeably filled coin purse in his hand.

"And just where did you have time to make coin today?" he asked without stopping.

"When you went to go deal with that incident down by the docks. You left me waiting for a whole three hours. I had some time on my hands so I thought I be productive."

"And just what entailed during this productive afternoon?"

"Well, Goody Briar was passing by with her usual stack of kindling. She saw me standing there and I offered to help her with her burden."

"That amount of coin seems rather generous for helping an old woman with a few pounds of sticks."

"Oh this? This wasn't for helping her haul a few bundles of kindling. Goody Briar was more than happy to give me this after I told her Mother was sick in bed with spotted fever while Bertrand and I were having trouble making ends meet, what with her being unable to handle the usual washing duties for her customers."

"You mother was rather spry this morning for someone who should be hallucinating due to a bone breaking fever," he replied evenly.

"I have a feeling that Mother is going to make a miraculous recovery next time Goody Briar comes to see her."

They turned a corner and could see the boy's dwelling nestled in-between the other rough buildings found in the Lower Quarter. There was still a light on in the window, but instead of bringing the youth to his doorstep, he rounded on him with an intimidating air.

"You must have thought yourself quite clever for that little stunt, didn't you boy?" Clearly, the dwarf had not been expecting this from him and could only utter a few nervous, indiscernible phrases. "Well, come now, speak up!"

"I thought it would be easy enough to pull off. The old woman barely knows what day it is nowadays."

"And you think that give you the sole right to do as you please in this?"

It was then the young dwarf seemed to muster some courage and stood a little straighter as he shot back, "I don't see why you are getting so bothered by this. A lord among rats is still a rat lord, while his subjects remain stupid vermin."

At that, the old man seized the youth at the back of his neck and gave him a sharp blow to the back of the head, "I've not let you spend these past four years shadowing me to have you turn out like a wise-cracking replica of your brother."

"Would that really be so bad?"

"It is when your brother is no better than a well-dressed thief that will smile at your face as he stabs you in the back to make an extra bit of gold."

"This coming from someone of such noble upbringing and employment."

"I at least know my principles and make it a discipline to adhere to them. What are yours, boy?" The dwarf was silent and merely stared up at the graying senior. "I thought so."

The old man finally released him, but the youth just stood there like a struck dog not sure if he should leave or stay. The man sighed as he rubbed his bristled chin and tried to rein in his aggravation. He had thought he had taught him better than that.

"A tower is not built without a solid foundation, Varric," he stated. "Just as a city will always have the so-called "nobility", you cannot forget those who are so-called "beneath" them. These people you piss on, they are the life blood of the city. Without them, there is no nobility, there are no classes, and there is no city."

But Varric only gave a quick nod. For now, he would take it. He turned to the domicile and gesture for the dwarf to follow as the boy's quick steps shadowed his own.

Without looking over his shoulder, he said, "You'll return the gold to the old widow tomorrow. Make up one of your tales, your good at that. Hopefully you will be able to save some face in this matter." Again, there was no reply from the usually sharp-tongued youth, but just for good measure, he added, "I won't be around tomorrow, so don't find yourself in a predicament that you can't get yourself out of, understand?"

"Where are you going?" Varric finally asked.

"To handle business."

"With who?"

"That's my own business and you do as you're told, do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Blind-eye."

They reached his door which turned out to be locked. His mother must have gone to bed hours ago, though they didn't bother looking for a hidden key. Already, the young dwarf was deftly picking the lock and had it opened in a matter of seconds. Once he heard the tell-tale click, Blind-eye turned and started out for his own residence.

"Blind-eye…I'm sorry."

The old smuggler, stopped short and glanced over at his young protégé. His earlier bravado back at the tavern and on the streets was all but gone now. Instead, it looked like he was on the verge of tears, but the last strands of his pride were keeping them at bay.

Blind-eye sighed as he rubbed the side of his clouded eye. The truth was, the dwarf was too clever for his own good. Even he sometimes forgot he was just a boy shy of ten summers. And it was moments like these that the reality of it came crashing back. But as those large brown eyes looked up at him, filled with mischief, the cavalier of youth, and an exuberant amount of wonder, he felt a slight twinge of guilt in knowing that he was adding his hand in helping mold Varric into a life full of back alley deals and shady underhandedness. Not that the little dwarf wouldn't excel at it, it was just…

Blind-eye strode over to the dwarf and kneeled down in front of him, "You know all those stories that I tell you?" Varric nodded. "Why do you like them so much?"

"Because they have heroes, adventures, dragons, and there's always a happy ending."

"But why is there a happy ending, Varric?"

"Because the hero always wins?"

"And do you know why the hero wins?"

"Because he strong?" Blind-eye smiled and tapped his temple. "And because he's clever."

"You know, I've told you a lot of stories, but there are some, Varric that don't have a happy ending. The hero isn't someone you want to win, even when they do. They have adventures, but sometimes, you don't want to know what happens next."

"Those don't sound like good stories, Blind-eye."

"It depends on what you want to hear and what actually happens."

"Couldn't you just change the story?"

"Not all the time. But the thing about stories is that there are truths buried within them. So one day, when they are telling your story, for I have no doubt they will, how do you want to be remembered?"

The young dwarf was silent for a moment and then asked, "We're not heroes, are we Blind-eye?"

"No Varric, we're not."

"But that doesn't mean we have to be the villains, does it?"

"No…it doesn't."

The youth pondered his words and then seemed to come to a finite conclusion, "Then…I want to be the storyteller."

Blind-eye couldn't help but laugh at the young dwarf's answer.

"So rather than be the hero or the villain, you will be the one to ultimately shape them behind the scenes while you tell their story for all others to here." Blind-eye nodded his head as he smiled. "I didn't see you in any other light, Varric."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Blind-eye opened his eyes and grimaced as another bout of pain wracked his body. He knew it had been a dream. More precisely, it had been a dream of a memory. But it had been a good memory, so he didn't mind. In fact, as he stared at the walls of his prison, with is body shattered and broken, he wished he could slip back into it. If only for a moment. But still…it brought a smile to his bruised and aching face.

He had been telling Varric the truth that night when he said he had business to take care of. He had been gone for months, almost an entire year. Only he hadn't planned it to take that long. His deal had gone bad and by the time he had finally made it back to Kirkwall, he wasn't the same man who had initially left. His speech had been wracked from the beatings, starvation, and sleepless nights. He was lucky to still have full use of his good eye and hands.

Ultimately broken and a shadow of his former self, it had taken time for him to reclaim some semblance of his old life. But it had been Varric that had been his purpose. It had been Varric who he watched step into his role with the same grace a prince had in becoming a king. But the only difference was that Varric possessed charm and charisma that some monarchs could only dream of.

Perhaps that is why he allowed the dwarf to convince him to retrieve the scroll. He had heard the warnings of the dark lore that surrounded it. But after so many years of watching Varric excel in the trade as he had, Blind-eye's confidence in him was unwavering. Enough so, that it had dampened his own nagging instincts.

That thought alone almost brought tears to the old smuggler's eye.

To his never ending shame, he could not believe he had betrayed his protégé like this. All he could think of as that mage hovered over him was being in that cell again, enduring the rack, and stripped bare as he was left to fight off the blistering cold. But compared to now, all that seemed like a pleasant dream. Yet he was beyond caring about himself at this point. All that he could do now was hope that Varric would keep his wits about him and stay one step ahead of this mage. That…and pray for death to finally take him.

Yet his prays were rarely answered, as was evident now when the door to his cell slowly began to open.

* * *

Thanks again for everyone who reviewed and commented. I hope you guys are still enjoying the story so far. Cya next time!


	12. On the Edge of the Forest

**A/N:** I hate having the keep writing these disclaimers, does Bioware get it at this point, or do I need to get a parrot?

Enjoy!

* * *

Death is the wish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all.

~Lucius Annaeus Seneca

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

She hated when her dreams were so clear while she was in the Fade. It usually meant that a demon was close by and attempting to lure her into a false dream while trying to lower her defenses. Truly, if some people understood the exhaustion that sleep sometimes was for a mage, they might be somewhat more understanding. Or maybe just even more fearful. Either way, her dream now was in no way soothing for her, despite all its intents and purposes.

She was back in Kirkwall and sitting in what appeared to be the Vicount's lavish gardens. Flowers of every color and kind imaginable were pruned and cultivated around her. The wooden bench she sat on was warm as was the bright sunlight that shone down on her. She casually ran her fingers over the petals of a pink rose. She plucked one from the flower and crushed its velvety texture between her fingers.

"You know, I never really liked flowers that much. Nor gardens for that matter. I just couldn't see the point in putting all that amount of labor and coin into them."

For a moment, it seemed like the dream had shuddered, as if it were having trouble holding itself together.

"That's strange," she pondered out loud as she rose to her feet.

Usually when she called out a demon, it would simply let the dream play out even after realizing she would not be so easily swayed. She had never had a dream dissolve around her before. But the longer she observed her surroundings, the more she began to see. Some things seemed…off. She couldn't quite explain it being a dream and all, but it was almost as if the demon was being sloppy.

Again the dream seemed to shudder but this time she felt a distantly familiar flux of magic around her. It took a moment for her to recall it, but when she did, her eyes widened in astonishment.

Hawke smirked as she crossed her arms over her chest, "Maybe I've been too distracted lately, but I completely forgot you had made your way here long ago."

"And here I thought it was me that inspired you to come here in the first place." The tall mage stepped out of the nearby veranda to stand before her. She wasn't sure what was the Dreamer's influence or reality with his appearance, but the half-elf seemed to have grown since their last meeting. He now stood a few inches taller than herself. He still had the same gold eyes, wheat-colored hair, and fine features that denoted his elvhen heritage. There was a new air of confidence about him, but then, anyone with the power to go into others dreams and manipulate them probably would instill some kind of sureness about themselves. But even then, there was still a look of youth in his eyes. "Sorry for all the subtly, Hawke. I'm trying to be careful."

Chuckling softly to herself, she nodded to the young mage, "So what do I owe for the astonishing Dreamer's abrupt appearance?"

"I thought it obvious. I'm here to help you escape."

"Are you now? And just how do you propose to go about doing that, Feynriel?"

"This might be of a surprise to you, Hawke, but I have been doing more than just diving into books and such since I've been here. I've been putting my gifts to good use over the years."

"And that would be?"

"Sabotaging slavers. This group of slavers to be more specific."

"You actually know about this ragtag group that managed to capture us?"

"Yes, actually. They are one of the largest groups here in the city. I've been hounding them for years now."

"So what can you tell me about them?"

"Their leader hires ex-templars, either ones that know the skills enough to be of use or others who have been stripped from the order but still require their lyrium."

"Effective jailers that are willing to make any amount of coin for a lyrium fix," Hawke growled under her breath. "How convenient."

She began pacing and biting her thumbnail as she considered their options.

"And highly dangerous. That's why I need to get you out of here as quickly as possible."

It was then Hawke was torn from her musings to turn back to the Dreamer, "I'm not leaving here without Anders."

The young mage grimaced when she brought up the healer's name, "Hawke, you have to understand, I've just been to see Anders, and well, the truth is his mind is almost gone. The slaver's bindings are keeping him in a perpetual state in the Fade, but even if you were able to remove them, the chances of him coming back are slim."

"You saw this for yourself?"

"Yes."

"And there was nothing left of him, nothing at all."

"There were…moments. Brief flashes." Hawke turned from the Dreamer as she attempted to make her way out of the dream. "But we can't be certain, Hawke."

"If there is a possibility of him still in there, then I'm not leaving him behind."

"Hawke, be reasonable."

"You were able to kill off that entire group of mercenaries that one time," she replied shortly. "Are you saying you can't this time?"

"Technically, yes. But the thing is, I've used my magic against Apate's group before. They know of my abilities, but not me. But that hasn't kept them from making precautions."

"Apate? You mean the elf who lured us down here to begin with, _she's_ in charge of this group?"

Feynriel nodded, "She's known as the Baiter in this city. Magisters and others Lords make…requests which she is adapt at fulfilling."

"Are you saying someone made _requests _for us?"

"No, at least not specifically by name. I think you just crossed paths with the wrong elf and she jumped at the opportunity to collar two unsuspecting mages. The fact that Anders is possessed by a spirit was a fluke."

"So what are they going to do with us now?"

"They intend to hand Anders over to some client tomorrow evening. As for you, they have at least three potential buyers lined up. They intend to show you the day after tomorrow."

"So that leaves us with tonight and tomorrow morning. What about any others in these cells."

"Apate moved them out earlier this week. I haven't been able to locate them yet. They haven't moved you because it's too risky. Especially with Anders."

"Alright, how do we go about getting us out of here?"

"E-Excuse me?"

"Last time, you had a whole company of mercenaries turn on themselves. Can't you just make them go insane like before?"

"They were isolated along the Wound Coast. If I try that again here, in the city, there's the possibility that I could not only cause them to go mad, but attract the attention of civilians, guards, other mages, maybe even the Archon. Besides, that was all…an accident. It's too risky Hawke."

"What do you mean by 'accident'?"

"I had intended to just distract them while submersing them all in different dreams and give the girl a chance to run. They weren't going deep enough so I tried using nightmares. They woke up but, uh, were still dreaming…"

"Well, that was reckless but effective."

"At least I saved someone."

"You did, so now you get to do it again," she stated.

"I told you, it's too dangerous. I could end up killing innocent people."

"And if you don't, Anders could very well die, or worse. I suggest you attempt it and make sure to concentrate really hard on what you're doing."

"You really don't care who gets hurts in this, do you?"

"No, quite the opposite actually. So are you going to help me or not?"

The Dreamer gave her livid look, but finally backed down, "I'm beginning to think it unwise to have come back for you."

"Then consider it repayment for when I saved you."

Still, the half-elf's glare was unsoftened as he closed his eyes as if thinking, "The path will become clear for you." After that, he began to fade from the dream, "Be ready, Hawke."

When he was gone and she could feel her own consciousness begin to pull her back, she could almost feel her power stir despite it being beyond her reach. But even without it, she secretly relished the havoc she and the Dreamer were about to wreck on her captors.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

She awoke to the bang of her cell's lock coming undone. Instantly, memories of her first night here came rushing back and she instantly called forth her magic only to be stifled by its suffocating absence. Instead, she pushed herself as far back as she could and contemplated using her waste bucket as some kind of last-ditch weapon. But as Hawke's thoughts clamored for some kind of plan and the jailer opened the door, something peculiar happened.

He took two steps into cell and then dropped to his knees. He fumbled with his belt and produced a small key which he held out to her. It was then Hawke recognized the dead, detached look in the man's half-lidded eyes. He was dreaming.

"Feynriel?"

The man snorted but his head rolled back and forth haphazardly. Again the hand holding the key flicked up towards her. Hawke's hand fumbled with the collar around her neck until finding the tiny little keyhole at the back of her neck. Snatching the key from the sleeping guard's hand, she made quick work of the insidious collar.

"Okay, now what?"

The jailer rose to his feet and gestured for her to follow. Outside her cell, she found a rough cut staff and a simple linen shift. She quickly donned it, grateful for the meager warmth it offered before snatching up the staff. It was nothing compared to the one she found in the Deeproads, but it would suffice for this task.

Again, Feynriel's puppet motioned her down the hallways. His ambling steps made keeping up with him easy enough, but their tedious pace was putting her on edge. She suspected at any moment they would be caught, but as each minute ticked by, no one approached them.

Feynriel had also been right about the absence of prisoners. So far, all the cells had been vacant. Yet that didn't quell her nervousness. The haphazard turns reminded her of the Lower Quarter back in Kirkwall. The same kind that were intentionally designed to disorient its prisoners, and when the puppet jailer began to lead her down a flight of iron steps, she hoped Feynriel knew where he was going even in the dark.

Grabbing hold of the back of the guard's armor and using her staff to offer them some light, he led her deeper and deeper into the holding chambers. Finally, they reached a heavy iron door inscribed with all matter of runes and symbols. Some she recognized, others she didn't. She waited impatiently while the puppet fumbled with his keys again before pulling out one and finally getting it into the lock.

As she stepped inside, it was clear that the slavers saved these cells for their more…difficult captives. The cell was little more than a circular room with a drain and not even a trace of light. And dangling in the center of it…

"Anders."

The man had been stripped down to his underclothes just as she had been. He was suspended from a link of shackles by a hook over his head so that the heels of his feet just barely touched the ground. Though now, his deadweight was slumped forward while he remained unconscious.

Hawke rushed forward, intent on releasing him, but was stopped short by Feynriel's puppet grabbing her upper arm. For a moment, Hawke contemplated incinerating the man, despite the Dreamer's help, but instead, held back as he began making sluggish nods towards the unconscious mage. Hawke still wasn't able to follow until the jailer pushed her aside and approached the mage. He reached up with his keys, but the moment his flesh touched the metal, a horrible burning smell perforated the air. Hawke watched as the flesh began to peel back from his fingers and the blood dribble down his wrist. The man whimpered in his sleep, but for some reason, remained sleeping. Finally, Ander's chains fell away. He nearly crashed into a heap onto the ground, but Hawke was deft at catching his large mass, although he nearly dragged her down with him. Feynriel's puppet took off his cloak and handed it to Hawke before finally urging them on.

"Wait, I haven't got a chance to look him over. There's no telling what they've done to him."

The puppet grunted and made another gesture towards the door. Hawke ignored him and gently eased Anders to the ground as she ran a softly glowing blue hand over his chest and arms. Again the guard made another impatient grunt, but Hawke was intent on finishing her work.

"I don't understand. There's nothing significant. No broken bones, nothing internal. Not even severe bruising. What's wrong with him?" Feynriel's puppet staggered over and tapped the back of his hand against the healer's forehead. "Justice. Justice is doing this?" The puppet shook his head. "There's something wrong with Justice?" The puppet nodded.

Hawke suddenly felt like she had swallowed a block of ice. It wasn't as if she hadn't been expecting this, it was just she hadn't expect it to come upon her this quickly. For a moment, she contemplated the dagger on the guard's belt. She could make it quick. Utterly painless. Not like he had propositioned her in Kirkwall amidst all the death and destruction while he kneeled with his back turned to her. He had held up a good front. Seemed utterly prepared to accept the consequences of what he had done. But she had sensed the fear. Could hear the nearly indiscernible warble in voice. Here, he could very well be sleeping. He wouldn't feel a thing.

She reached up to take the dagger from the guard's belt when she saw the subtle, nearly nonexistent twitch from the man in her arms. Instead, she placed her hand on his cheek and watched the slight flutter of his eyes under his lids. Yet he didn't wake. Again, she looked back up at the dagger and felt her insides lurk sickeningly.

No. She had lost so much because she had just assumed she knew better. She had played with others' lives long enough. Anders was the last thing she had left, even if it were just pieces of him that remained.

She was going to save what she could of those pieces.

Hoisting Anders up with the puppet's aid, she nodded to the door, "Which way, Feynriel?"

The guard grunted and began leading them down another set of halls. At one point, she thought they were going downhill, though it was becoming considerably lighter. Still, they had yet to come across any guards.

"Where are all of them?" she asked suddenly forgetting that Feynriel's puppet was rather limited when it came to speech. Instead she got an exaggerated snore and snort. "They're asleep?" The guard nodded. "Did you do that?" The puppet shook his head, but then nodded. "You're, uh, keeping them asleep?" she guessed. Surprisingly, the puppet nodded again. "All of them?" This time, the guard shook his head. "I see. So is it much further?"

The guard looked to be about to make another gesture when he suddenly stopped short and tried to quickly back up. To late did Hawke recognize a lone shadow on the wall as they were about to round a corner.

"Iyllis? Iyllis what are you doing with the cargo? Apate said they weren't to be moved until tomorrow."

"Shit," Hawke hissed under her breath. "Feynriel, on my signal, drop."

"Iyllis…damn it to the Void."

"Now."

"Sound the alarm! The Dreamer's-"

The ice spike ripped through the man's throat as he hit the ground dead. She had hoped that the sentry's alarm was cut short enough, but didn't wait to see if her hopes came true. Tugging the puppet and Ander's back to their feet, she marshaled them down the hall until Feynriel could finally get his bearings back. Shoulder all of Ander's weight, Feynriel's puppet pulled her around and practically threw them down a small flight of stairs.

They clamored through a heavy wooden door as the sounds of muffled boots and shouts became louder. Dropping Anders, the guard threw the door closed and dropped a bar over it. Hawke took in this new area and realized that the halls branched off in at least four different directions this time.

"Now where?" she panted. Instead of ushering them towards one of the hallways, the puppet lumbered over to what looked like a rusty hatch. He pulled it open with a grating shriek to reveal a dark, metal shaft.

"You can't be serious. That appears to be a garbage chute."

The shouts were getting louder. Behind them, it sounded like the reinforcements had found the sentry's body.

The puppet grunted and moaned as it gestured more urgently to the chute. He went over and grabbed the still incapacitated mage and pulled him towards it.

"Do you even know where this goes?"

The puppet nodded and grunted again. Just then, the door shuddered as muffled, angry shouts in Imperium filtered through.

Again, the puppet grunted as he pushed her and Anders into the cute, "Go."

The guard Iyllis pulled out his sword as the hatch closed on them. Gravity began to pull at them when from the other side, they heard what sounded like a door being splintered apart. They began to fall down as the sounds of battle erupted outside. What happened after, she didn't know.

Instead, she clung to Anders as they were tossed and thrown around the metal tube only to come to an abrupt stop as they were deposited on a somewhat soft, sandy ground. Despite the amount of refuse and waste they were covered in, it was all forgiven when she felt the salty, warm air on her face. Large rocky outcrops towered over them. The tide was rising, as the warm water began foaming around her feet and stinging the tiny cuts on them. But even that felt utterly gorgeous. She used this new-found relief as a secondwind as she attempted to pull Anders up. But in the last hour, she had been fueled purely by adrenaline. She had no food these last few days, and barely any water. Still, she hadn't come this far to fall short now.

A sharp bark brought her attention back to the outcrops, and before she could brace herself, the massive dog pounced on her. The excited yips were laced with whines and an overly aggressive tongue as Garm greeted her. She had never been so delighted to be covered in dog spit. The dog even turned his sights to Anders, but gave a concerned whine when he realized that the mage was unconscious again.

"I know," Hawke panted. "That's why we need to get out of here. So why don't you lend me a hand, boy?"

With the dog's help, she had managed to drag Anders out of the shallow tide pool and up to higher ground. There, she was surprised to find a hooded form huddled between the rocks. If not for Garm, she probably would have completely missed him. With her staff in hand, she slowly approached the figure. She pulled back the hood and revealed the Dreamer's face deep asleep.

"Not that I'm complaining, but do you really think this is the safest places to take a nap, Feynriel?"

He didn't answer her, and for a moment, Hawke was at a complete loss at what she was going to do. She couldn't very well carry both of them, even with the mabari's help. But just when she thought she was going to be forced to leave the young mage behind, he jerked awake in a gasping fit and sputtering cough.

"Feynriel, are you alright?"

The mage managed a nod as he hacked a few more times.

"It's really horrible when you're still in them when they die," he wheezed while trying to get to his feet. "I really hate doing that. It just feels too close to blood magic."

"You can worry over your moralities later. Right now we have to get out of here. It won't take them long to figure out where we went."

"Right, this way," he replied wearily.

Helping her with Anders, he led them under the docks, away from prying eyes until rounding the rocky outcrops. When she was sure she couldn't go another step, the Dreamer stopped them in front of a small cave and set them down on one of the rocks.

"Why are we stopping?"

"I'm getting us our ride," he replied and ducked down into the cave's mouth. Moments later, he returned leading a large, black behemoth. It was after Hawke took in the horse's size that she realized that it was pulling a small chaise.

"I'll say this Feynriel, you know how to execute a plan."

The young mage merely smirked as he helped get the still unconscious healer into the small wagon.

"It will be tight, but at least it's inconspicuous. They'll suspect us to disappear into the city, so if we stick to the country roads on the outskirts of the city, it will look like we are just out for a daily ride." He squeezed himself in-between them and snapped the reins as the large horse jumped forward at a brisk pace while Garm kept up behind them. "If we go up the beach for a few miles, there will be a path that cuts up into the main road."

"What about our tracks?" Luckily, dusk was falling around them and it looked like a storm might pass through, but she doubted that would be much of a hindrance if these tenacious salvers.

"The wind's strong today. It should take care of them until the storm breaks. Do you think you can drive, Hawke?"

"Uh sure, but where am I driving him too?"

"Sable knows the way," he replied wearily, "just don't use the whip on him. He doesn't like that."

Clearly the ordeal had taken a lot out of the Dreamer, but after some time, he finally seemed to have joined Anders in the Fade.

But the mage had been right about the horse. He jogged down the sandy shore until coming to a dirt path that led them towards the higher ground and was partially concealed by the rocks. Hawke barely had to touch the reins for the horse to lurch up the path and pick up his pace once they were on a slightly worn dirt road. And that's when the sky's opened up overhead.

Even while they were getting drenched by buckets of water, the two men slept soundly. Hawke didn't bother waking them, since the horse didn't seemed hindered by the rain and it didn't appear that they were being followed. It plowed ahead despite it all. Hawke found a spare cloak on the floor and donned it as she observed what she could through the downpour. In the distance, she could see thousands of lights stretching out in the darkness. It was nearly ten times the size of Kirkwall, and for once, Hawke felt intimidated by its daunting size. It didn't matter how many hours they spent as the road carried on, the city was always within sight. Just then, the cart suddenly lurched forward as the horse quickened his pace considerably.

The entire time she had been pondering the city, she hadn't thought of looking forward to see exactly where it was the horse was taking them. It wasn't until the black horse made a sharp turn up a steep, winding path that Hawke spotted the manor on the hill.

She had been too occupied with the abrupt escape that she hadn't even considered just where it was Feynriel was taking them. She had glanced over the letter he had sent years ago, so of course he must still have the apprenticeship with the magister he had spoken about.

At this point, Hawke wasn't sure if they were jumping from the pot into the fire. She tugged at the horse's reins, but the stubborn animal had already caught whiff of its stable. No amount of tugging or pulling was convincing it to go elsewhere. She was considering lighting a fire under the horse's tail until it reached the manor and automatically stopped before the steps leading to the front door.

"Aren't you well trained," Hawke huffed as she threw the reins down in utter contempt.

So far, there were only a few lights on in the windows and no one had yet come to the door. Maybe the rain had concealed their arrival. She was still considering sicking Garm on the horse to get the stubborn animal to move until the doors opened and a blinding column of light flooded from it.

"Ah, you must be Hawke."

Inwardly, the mage groaned. From experience, it was never good when strangers recognized her or her name.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He ran, but this time the forest did not grab or tear at him. He stumbled, but the trees did not seem to hold him back as it did before. Instead, it was almost as if they were watching him to see if he would be able to outrun his frantic pursuers.

His whole body was on fire. His fatigued muscles screamed in protest from both the exertion and the burn of his markings. The lyrium in his flesh was poisoning his blood and he wished nothing more than to tear off his skin so he could continue to run unhampered. He was almost there, he knew it. It was neither a sanctuary nor a haven, but his instincts told him it was his only option.

The trees became larger. They towered above him as ancient pillars amongst a shroud of forgotten time. All light was gone except the familiar glow of his lyrium but even that pitiful light seemed to be suppressed by the thickening darkness. Blinded and exhausted, he continued to run until the only thing that fueled him now was his determination alone. And once that failed him, he fell. His training was beginning to falter. The pain and desperation was finally taking hold. He only had to go on a little further, but could barely manage to get to his knees.

It was out there. He knew it was out there.

He had felt its burning eyes on him with every step. Even now he could feel it watching him, calculating him. Every moment that passed his fears and hesitation seemed to wane only to be replaced by desperation and anger. He would not be run down like some wild animal. Nor would he allow this creature to find sport in his suffering.

"I know you're there!" he shouted into the darkness. "Show yourself!"

The shadows waned but did not retreat. And from the darkness, a form emerged as the scent of old blood perforated the air. All he could discern from the shadowy mass was the creature's burning eyes as they met his. Fear which he at first thought he had abandoned now paralyzed him. It reeked of power and death and deep within his being, despite his fear, despite his revulsion, he coveted it. He envied this creature that was able to evoke such fear but at the same time he despised it.

"What are you?" he growled low in his throat.

The creature's fangs clicked together in annoyance. It stalked closer, its eyes boring into him. He could feel its breath on him. The stench of death was suffocating.

"What are you?" he said again.

It was so close he could feel its fangs begin to wrap around his throat.

"What-"

And the creature's teeth sank into his flesh.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Fenris bolted upright. One hand reached out blindly for the hilt of his sword while the other frantically tried to stop the bleeding at his throat that wasn't there. It was only when the room came back into focus and he remembered where he was did he finally release his weapon. He took several breathes as a shaky hand ran through his sweat soaked hair.

'It was a dream. It was only a dream.'

The mantra was repeated over and over in his thoughts in an attempt to calm himself. They were the same words he would whisper to himself on nights when dark dreams of his past life as a slave plagued him and his markings would burn upon awakening. Even now, he felt small jolts run up the length of his arms and legs. Fenris shook off the last dregs of sleep in an attempt to rid himself of the memory of the dream.

Across from him, the two slumbering forms of the ranger and blood mage remained undisturbed. The tiny window revealed the barest tint of grey in the sky. Dawn had yet to come and he was about to lay back down when he noticed a certain dwarf was absent. Without bothering to wake the others, he quickly donned his armor and grabbed his weapon. He silently descended the staircase, but before he reached for the door, he paused once he heard movement in the next room. Fenris immediately recognized the short choppy stride and waited until he heard the soft click of the door closing. As quickly and silently as he could, he slipped into the room and from the shop window watched as Varric, donned in a hooded cloak, made his way down the darkened city streets.

Fenris only hesitated for a few more moments. It was enough time for him to trail the dwarf from the safe distance. As Fenris followed him down the various alleys and streets, he was distinctly reminded of what it was the dwarf received the previous day. He had been distracted by many things upon entering Halamshiral, but he had not missed the message that had been slipped to Varric the second they entered the city. The rest of the day he had been hard pressed to keep his knowledge of the document hidden, but at the same time, his own suspicions of it were eating him from the inside.

The dwarf may not have taken the attack of Imperium mages in Kirkwall seriously, but that didn't mean that he didn't. What Fenris couldn't comprehend is that the dwarf would so easily follow this message after such an attempt on his life. Not for the first time did Fenris pause to consider returning for the others. Suddenly, the rogue disappeared down another alley, and as Fenris rounded it, the dwarf entered a small tavern.

"Is this a wise move, dwarf?" Fenris mused.

He waited only a few moments before following after him.

The tavern was much more spacious then it appeared on the outside. Various tables were spread throughout while the corners were partitioned to allow visitors some privacy from the rest of the patrons. Drinks were being served by barmaids whose clothing was somewhat scandalous for even some of the whores at the Blooming Rose. Even with his hood drawn, he received more than a few smiles from the serving girls. He scanned the crowd and saw the dwarf make his way up the small, elegantly carved staircase.

The owner had definitely spent more on the second floor of his establishment than he had on the others. His steps were muffled by the dark blue carpets and thick wooden walls of the hallway. Numerous doors led to what he believed to be different rooms. Small brass lamps lit the way with a dim light, but there was no sign of the dwarf. The frantic suspicion that had gripped him when he first woke up was slowly being replaced with mild embarrassment. It very well could be that the dwarf was simply out to enjoy himself like he had stated earlier. But just when he was about to leave the dwarf to whatever business he had, Fenris turned just in time to see one of the doors down the hallway behind him close as the tail end of Varric's coat disappeared inside.

As he neared, he could make out the dwarf's voice as well as the voice of another man. The wood was thick and he was having trouble understanding their muffled voices. He leaned in closer, straining his ears until too late, he realized he was not alone. An all too familiar pain blossomed beneath his skin. Beneath his cloak, his markings had flared to life and were on fire. He managed a chocking gasp as he fell to his knees while feebly attempting to grab his sword.

"You were always predictable, Fenris, but every now and then, you do surprise me sometimes."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Falon jolted out of a deep sleep as if she had been burned. Her skin felt as if a thousand tiny insects had been crawling over it and she could feel the fine hairs on her arms stand up on end.

Something was wrong.

Merrill bolted up from her bedroll seconds after she did with the same frightened and confused look she had. Across the room, there were two cold, empty bedrolls.

Something was very wrong!

"Merrill, gather everything. We need to find the others and get out of here."

"R-Right now, but what about the supplies?"

"We'll get what we can from Elren, the rest we'll get from the forest, now hurry."

In seconds they had most of the gear packed. Suddenly, Merrill gasped and dropped a waterskin on the floor, spilling its contents. Falon followed her gaze out the small window and past the buildings. The mage clutched herself as if she were cold and began shaking uncontrollably.

"Falon, can you feel that?" The ranger picked up the empty skin and placed the pack on the mage's shoulders as she pulled her to her feet. "It almost…it almost feels like a demon. I've never felt magic like this before. It's so… heinous."

"All the more reason for us to get out of here."

"What about Elren and Lia?"

Falon paused, but quickly shook her head, "We'll warn them, but I don't think that it's a coincidence that both Fenris and Varric are gone and then we wake up to this."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

A brothel would have been the last place that he would think for Blind-eye to want to rendezvous at, but after the fiasco that had been Kirkwall, he guessed the last place someone would look for you was the best option.

The room was actually not too bad. It kind of reminded him of his own little place he had back at the Hanged Man only more…Orleasian. The room was furnished with the usual flare one would find in a brothel, but what interested him more was the table Blind-eye was sitting at with a bottle of Orleasian wine.

The short little man nodded once the dwarf entered the room, "Varric."

Varric returned the gesture, "Blind-eye, good to see you made it out of Kirkwall in relatively one piece."

"Yes, I c-could say the s-s-same for you."

"Well, you did warn me. Of course, you know what they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained," he said as he opened the wine and began to pour himself a glass.

"I am f-f-familiar with that s-saying. Would you m-mind pouring me one as-s-s w-well?"

Varric paused and nearly overfilled his cup. At the moment, Blind-eye was sitting calmly, seemingly relaxed as he waited expectantly for the dwarf to pour him a drink.

"Um, sure. Here you go, Blind-eye."

"T-Thank you, V-Varric."

Varric watched as the man casually sipped the wine as the dwarf sat back in his chair and began nursing his.

"Didn't expect to find you in Halamshiral. I myself didn't expect to be here until only a couple of weeks ago," Varric mused. "How is it you were able to get a message to me so quickly."

"T-There are m-many m-more eyes and ears on this s-s-side of the s-sea than in Kirkwall," Blind-eye replied. "How g-g-goes your expedition?"

"It has yet to get gone, to be honest. What with assassins, sea monsters, and these hostile living conditions, actually getting your foot out the door comes with a risk of getting it loped off before you can even start."

"B-B-But you do have a g-g-guide, yes?"

Varric smiled as he raised his glass to his chin, "You do have some good ears and eyes this far south."

"D-Do you trust her?"

Something wasn't right, and it was more than just the dwarf's instincts that were telling him this. Blind-eye's presence here in the city, the message, his probing questions, his behavior. And never once had he ever mentioned the ranger.

"You sure are full of questions, Blind-eye, and I have to say that-"

Blind-eye threw up his hand and began to move his fingers in quick, rapid signs that Varric was adept to follow.

'Quiet. Danger.'

"…that I think I should pour you another glass while I catch you up on the details."

'Blood. Mage. Outside. Great. Danger.'

"You know, we actually changed course a couple times while out at Sea. Our initial destination had been Jadar. However, you know how the tides can be. Took us nearly two weeks to cross. How long did it take for you?

"Only one, b-but it was a d-d-difficult journey."

"Yes, our guide didn't fare too well during it either. Dead on her feet the entire time."

'Want. Map. Kill. All.'

"S-Some just d-don't have the s-s-stomach for it, I s-suppose."

'Run. Leave. Now.'

"Of course," Varric stated, "you are more than welcomed to join us."

"N-N-No, I t-think not. I w-would be quite useless in this s-s-sort of t-thing."

"Nonsense, where would I be or Hawke for that matter if you didn't supply me with those connections in Orlais? I'm sure if you want, we could arrange something, perhaps even contact one of the guilds that owes us a favor or two.

'Stop. Run.'

"No, V-Varric, I'm afraid t-t-that's out of the q-q-question."

"I see. We won't be leaving until tomorrow morning. We're staying at The Dog's Paw. Come by if you change your mind."

"I'll k-keep that in m-m-mind."

'Run!'

There was a thump from behind the doorway followed by a series of muffled gasps. Instantly, Varric was out of his chair with Bianca at the ready. He was about to approach the door when Blind-eye grabbed him by his elbow.

"Varric, d-don't," he hissed just barely above a whisper. "This isn't any k-k-kind of b-blood m-mage that you have s-s-seen before."

"We don't have to fight, just run, right?" Varric stated as he began to pull Blind-eye from the chair. "We can make it out of here and to the others before-"

The man fell to the ground without even attempting to catch himself. And it wasn't until Varric looked down at what had once been his legs to see why. From his thigh down, all traces of muscle were gone. His skin was peeled back in several places to reveal dried-out, yellow bone. The stubs at the end of his legs hardly resembled any likeness to feet, besides the tiny flecks of what he believed to be toe-nails.

"By the fucking Void. Blind-eye…"

"I'm s-s-sorry, Varric. I'm s-s-so s-sorry. Please, run, d-don't let him c-catch you. He isn't h-human, he isn't even a d-demon, he's s-s-something worse."

"Then what makes you think I will leave you behind?"

The explosion blew in the door and sent the two of them hurtling across the room. Even he didn't miss that tell-tale flash of blue right before. And if that wasn't enough, he could feel the hum of lyrium and magic in the air as he struggled to regain his bearings.

"Blind-eye? Blind-eye, where are…Damn it Maker, no."

The old man gave a hacking cough and splattered Varric's coat with small droplets of blood.

"It isn't t-that bad. At least it d-doesn't hurt all that bad." A small beam had splintered off from the rafter and had pierced the side of the man's chest clean though. Already he was struggling for air as his mouth filled with frothy blood. "Varric…" Feebly, Blind-eye beckoned him closer. "Varric…don't be blinded by your fear. It's its d-domain. S-Seek it out, ask for its p-protection. It will b-bestow it, if y-y-you gain its l-l-loyalty. You have the k-key t-to find it."

"Just hold on Blind-eye, I'm going to get you out of here," he said as he tried to stop the bleeding. Bright red blood pooled around his hands and stained his coat. "Shit!"

The old smuggler grabbed his hands and forced the dwarf to look at him, "Varric…l-listen." He stilled as Blind-eye feebly clung to him. "I gave you the m-means because I thought you were w-w-worthy. I've always thought you w-were worthy. You k-know what it means to lose s-something. We are rarely g-g-given the opportunity to retrieve that w-which is lost. Don't s-s-squander it."

"Burslin…"

"The forest has become weak and vulnerable," he gasped as his eyes began to dim. "S-Seek out the s-shrine with those who have f-forgotten the way. Do not let him t-taint the mere..."

"Blind-eye…Burslin, you're not making any sense."

The coughed again as his hands became wet and warm, "Swear you will find it, Varric. S-S-Swear you will protect it!"

He tried to convince himself that the man was rambling, but he knew him better than that. When his eyes became desperate, there was little else he could say to him.

"I swear it, Burslin, I'll find the tomb. I promise, I won't let you down."

Another explosion shook the building. Varric shielded Blind-eye as more debris rained down on them, but when he looked back, the old man eyes were staring blankly up into the rafters.

"Blind-eye?"

Nothing.

"Burslin!"

Still nothing. The old man was gone.

Shouts and the sound of battle were spilling out into the entire building. But as Varric looked down at the old man one last time, his heart grew hard at the thought of the scum that was still out there, a feeling he hadn't felt since his own brother's betrayal.

Blind-eye's words were still echoing in his mind, but they were a dim resonance as a foreign sense of vengeance gripped him. It perforated his mind and blood until all he could think at that moment was what waited for him beyond this room…and what he intended to do to that mage when they crossed paths.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The second he felt the hilt of the small knife at his belt, the piece of metal went flying through the air. The mage had only seconds to bring up a barrier, but it was more than enough time for him to change the tide of battle. Instantly, the mage's spell on his lyrium brands faded and Fenris's sword was in his hand as he poised himself to strike the second the mage dropped his barrier. He was only a few feet away and the mage had no other form of protection.

But instead of concern, the shrouded mage's voice was amused as he peered at him from behind the translucent shield, "I always said you had a strong will. Let's see how much it takes to break it this time."

If not for his experience around mages, he would have never noticed the quick movements of the other man's hands. Without even breaking his concentration in holding the barrier, the mage began to cast another spell simultaneously. For a moment, the warrior panicked, knowing that at this distance, the mage could cast a minor curse and it would be devastating. He felt the thrum of lyrium under his skin and the second the barrier dropped and the lightning erupted around the mage, a massive explosion of lyrium and magic flooded the hallway.

The blast threw him several yards down the destroyed hallway. He slammed into one of the walls with a jarring impact that left his head spinning. Disoriented, Fenris forced himself to his feet and willed his vision to clear. In the haze, there was a pale blue light at the far end of the hall. It began to grow until suddenly it seemed to have filled the entire area. Instincts forced his brands to come to life and he pressed himself to the wall to avoid the full impact of the ice shards.

The moment there was a pause, he struck. Using the lyrium in his skin to augment his speed, he closed the distance between him and the mage like a ghost the skill was adeptly named for. His blade sang for the mage's blood, but was parried away by a metal staff as his opponent stumbled to regain his footing.

"You've taking to the lyrium remarkably well, Fenris," he chuckled as his hands began to glow anew. "Quite impressive."

He had yet to see the mage's face nor could he recognize his voice.

"Who are you?" the elf spat. "Are you an apprentice to Denarius?"

"Apprentice to Denarius?" The mage chuckled beneath his hood and spun his staff. "In a way, I suppose you can say so." The staff slammed into the ground with a thunderous crack and nearly threw him off his feet. "However, what I learn from him pales in comparison to what I can do in return."

"I'm after the lost of his pet pupil Hadrianna, Denarius was eager for a new sycophant to cater to him."

Fenris rushed forward and brought his weapon across in a sweeping arch hoping to shatter the mage's arms or weapon at least. Instead, the metal of his sword cried out in an ear splitting clang that reverberated up his arms and into his shoulder.

It was only a moment, but in battle a moment meant either death or salvation. For him, it meant a solid strike by a metal staff into his upper arm. He felt the sickening scrape of his bone popping out of place and was confirmed as his left arm hung lifelessly at his side. A mind blast spell caused him to lose his footing only for it to be swiped from under him as the mage caught him behind his knee.

His head slammed against the floor and he growled both in frustration and pain as the mage pinned him to the ground by shoving his staff into his damaged shoulder. He wasn't above recognizing defeat when it was upon him, he merely refused to submit to it. Even now, he waited for the mage to summon a final spell. He would not leave this world as the simpering slave they had hunted. But the mage not only seemed amused by his defiance, he seemed to be relishing it.

"I'm not going to kill you Fenris," he stated plainly. "To do that would be the equivalent of destroying a work of art." The elf felt the burn of his markings and wished nothing more at the moment than to crush the loathsome man before him. "Don't look at me that way, elf. I at least can respect the time and blood spent in making those brands of yours, unlike your master who can only view magic as a symbol of status and not a tool to something greater."

"A mage that desires even more power, how unique."

A cackling laughter erupted from behind the hood of the mage, "And you don't?"

Fenris sneered at the mage, but a memory came to him unbidden. One in which he roamed the Fade. He was only there because he had foolishly trusted the leadership of another mage. Even then he should have reexamined his loyalties, for the demon's words swayed him as easily as any power hungry abomination. But there were truths in the lies. And it was as if the shrouded mage could see it as easily as the demon. He shoved the pain aside and began to struggle anew

"What if you had won, Fenris?" The ceased his struggling and gazed up at the mage with suspicious contempt. Blood mages were known for their ability to read the thoughts of others. This one seemed no different. "What if you had won against Hawke and had accepted the demon's offer?"

"You know nothing of what had-"

"Power is the ultimate driving force in this world, Fenris. It is the most basic law and ultimate force that decides everything. The most powerful magisters to even the simplest creatures follow it: the weak die, the strong live."

"And I suppose that justifies your actions, blood mage? Because a slave is weak they are nothing more than fodder or tools for the strong such as yourself?"

"That is simply how our world is. Slaves, humans, elves, those not able to help themselves are doomed to their fate. But you …you _are_ strong, Fenris. You do not know how many countless died because they were too weak to accept the brands or how many more died because they could not contain the power."

"I suppose I should feel honored then."

"You should feel entitled," he purred. "Denarius believes that you are still his and thus those brands are his by right. But he does not have the true drive nor thirst that is required of such a gift." To the elf's astonishment, the mage lifted his staff off of him and then slowly extended his hand out towards the fallen warrior. "You do and that is why I am compelled not to see such promise wasted."

Fenris glared at the offered hand as if it were a coiled snake.

"You expect me to believe that you would betray your master for a runaway slave?"

The mage threw back his head with another bout of cackling laughter, "Tell me, _Fenris_, does a starving wolf bow its head as its master offers it his meager scraps, or does he simple take the hand?"

"What am I then, the wolf or the hand?"

The mage chuckled again, "That is entirely up to you, isn't it?"

It was a trick, it had to be a trick. At least he believed it to be trick. But the mage's words called to something buried deep inside him. How many times did he bow under the power that others held over him? How many times did that same power decide his fate and the fate of so many others, yet it was wielded by those who viewed him as little more than a tool? What would it be like to command that kind of power, that kind of fear, if only it meant that he could be free?

"Power is not simply granted to us, Fenris. It is obtained by those hungry and determined enough for it."

"I…" Fenris vehemently shook his head. "You think I'm a fool, that I would be so easily swayed by your vague promises and theories?"

"Yet here you are, on the border of a ruined land because of the 'vague promises and theories' of a dwarf, yes?" The elf's eyes narrowed which followed by another chortle of the mage's mocking laughter. "Do you really think you will find salvation in those woods? There you will only find ghosts and forgotten shadows. And if you are able to return alive, those who hunt you will still be here.

"Your suspicion and instincts are what have kept you alive this long, Fenris. And if you listen to those same instincts, they will tell you that I'm right."

In truth, his instincts were telling him to kill this mage and run, to quell that insidious laughter and crush his throat. But the temptation was still there. The insatiable 'what if' that continuously haunted him, and he despised that part of himself. But so far, his instincts, his trust, had not served him well. Instead, he was betrayed and before that, he had believed he was among allies.

Even to his own ears, the words were barely distinguishable, "What…would you have me do?"

* * *

Muwhaha! Dance puppets, dance!

Whew…that got a little crazy at some points…and I think I underwent a little bit of a power trip in there somewhere…

Anyway.

Stay tuned for the dramatic conclusion, and as always, thanks for reading, reviewing, and commenting! See ya next time!


	13. Enemies at the Gate, Enemies Within

A/N: And of course, the parrot thing didn't work out, so yeah, Bioware owns everything. Me nada.

* * *

We have all had the experience of finding that our reactions and perhaps even our deeds have denied beliefs we thought were ours.

~James Baldwin

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

She was barely able to keep Falon's head visible over the turbulent crowd. Several times she felt she was going to be swept away by the insistent people. Eventually, she had to pull out her staff and use it the part the crowd, despite the open stares she would receive.

"Falon!" The woman continued up the street, never taking her eyes off the northern section of the city. "Falon, wait!"

The ranger came to an abrupt halt. Her hooded head tilted to the side as if she was listening to something before slowly reaching for her weapon. Screams in both Common and Orlesian suddenly erupted from the crowd around her. This time her fears were confirmed as several _shemlan_ pushed and shoved her until she had lost the ranger. Somehow, the small mage was able to pull away from the mass and clung to one of the walls of the street. From there, she scrambled onto one of the many merchant crates.

Chaos had gripped the already hectic marketplace. Elves and human alike were fleeing from the entrance of the street that led to the Lower Quarter. Alone and unsure of what was happening, she was starting to grow anxious. All of a sudden, a horrible cry erupted throughout the street that caused her to freeze in place. It sounded like some otherworldly animal howling in pain.

Screams and panicked cries deafened her, but she ignored the frenzy as she desperately searched for the ranger. Off in the distance, she heard a muffled explosion and thought that it sounded like it came from the Tavern Quarter. The numbers in the streets began to thin, but the fear on the stragglers was no less than what she had seen. If anything, they were even more desperate to flee the marketplace than the others. Suddenly, she was grabbed and pulled off the crates. Her hand reared back ready to scorch her attacker when she recognized the face.

"We can't go this way," Falon panted as she hauled her up the cobblestone street. Her sword was unsheathed and she constantly looked over her shoulder at the head of the marketplace. The howl tore through the air once more and both recoiled from the sound as if struck.

"By Mythal, what is that?"

"Just run!"

Falon led them down a small alley. The twists and turns were so numerous, she didn't think the ranger even knew where they were now. They came to a halt at the mouth of an alley. In front of it were various crates and debris that obscured most of their view of the deserted street which contained many abandoned, slanted vendor stalls and stands. They both heard the thunderous pounding of horses seconds before five chevaliers charged down the street and forced them to duck back into the alley.

"Falon, what is going on?" Even with the ranger so close, she was continuously scanning the area around them and didn't seem to have heard her. "Falon!"

"Not now!" she replied sharply.

"What did you see?" The ranger paused and for a moment, Merrill thought she saw her tremble. She had not seen her like this before, not even after the blood mage had bewitched her back in Kirkwall and had her writhing in pain on the street. "What did you see?" she stated again more forcefully.

At that the ranger finally focused her attention on her, "A Void stalker. I don't know how, I don't know why, but there's one here in the city."

Merrill frowned at the name, "I've never heard of those before."

"Trust me, if you had, you would know why we need to depart. Now."

She made to leave the alley but Merrill pulled her back, "What is it, some kind of darkspawn?" Falon shook her head. Merrill's eyes widened ever so slightly, "Is it a demon?"

Falon made to shake her head again, but stopped, "I'm not sure, but that's perhaps the best description for one. I just know we have to get as far away from it as possible."

She made to leave again, but Merrill was still blocking the way, "We have to find Varric and Fenris."

"And do you have any idea as to where they are?"

"No, that is, not exactly, but if this thing is as dangerous as you say, then we can't just leave them behind."

Falon rubbed the space between her eyes and sighed in frustration, "Then what's our next move? We can't stay in the Lower Quarter with that thing running loose."

"Then if it's in the Lower Quarter, then we go to the Tavern District and find Varric and Fenris," Merrill simply stated. "That's the most likely place they would be, right?"

"I suppose that's our only options at this point," the ranger mused.

"If we-"

A loud scream came from the down the street as a lame horse staggered past them. Seconds later, two chevaliers on horseback appeared with swords drawn. One of them had a woman clinging to the back of him. The other had lost his helmet and had a large gash on the side of his head and a ruined ear. Their horses were a frenzied mess that screamed and fought for their heads. Even their riders seemed reluctant to turn and face their pursuer. They were shouting in Orlesian and gesturing towards the southern part of the city. Falon was watching them closely and pursed her lips as they continued speaking.

"Do you know what they're saying?"

"A little. This street is a blocked further down, and what's worse, they think that the Void stalker is following them." She paused and listened again. "They're debating on abandoning the city and seek a lord's help to the east."

It was then that Merrill recognized the young woman that was behind the knight.

"That girl, I think it's Lia."

Falon frowned when she followed the mage's gaze, "You're right, it is. What's she doing on the streets?"

"Maybe she was looking to warn us?"

The horses started to become frantic and Falon cursed under her breath.

"It's close."

Merrill made to go towards the chevaliers and Lia, but it was Falon's turn to grab the mage by her robes and pull her back into the alley.

"What are you doing?"

"We can't just leave that poor girl and knights to whatever that thing is."

The woman glared at the mage and then at the horsemen in the streets. Merrill could practically see the frantic thoughts racing through Falon's head, and she hated it. Whatever this creature was, it was enough to turn the ranger into an almost cowardly state. Finally, Falon released her.

"Alright." A howling snarl came from up the deserted street and she grimaced. "Just try to immobilize it so we can get away. We can't kill it, but I think we can at least do that."

"Why can't-"

"We don't have time or the means," Falon snapped as she readied her sword. "Just once we get into the street move to the side and start casting."

Falon had her kneel close to the ground and then slowly inch their way behind the various stalls and stands that lined the side of the street. She could still not see the source of the fearsome growls, but every few seconds, she would glance at the lathered flanks of the horses and the battered metal of the chevalier's armor. Falon slowly peeked over the wood and gripped her sword tightly before leaning back to her.

"We move on my word, understood?" Her voice and mannerisms had lost all warmth. At the moment, Merrill was somewhat reminded of the Knight Commander. "While it focuses on the horsemen, I'll attack from behind. The second I do, don't hold back. Strike it hard and fast. When you've done that, bind it somehow."

"What about you? I almost burned you to a cinder last time."

"Then I'll get out of the way like I did last time. Just do what I told you. I'll make sure to keep its attention." The snarling was getting closer. One of the horses reared up and threatened to throw its rider. Falon closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Whatever happens, don't stop moving."

Merrill nodded and as the ranger slowly began to leave to get into position, the mage grabbed her hand with both of hers and held it between them as she bowed her head.

"Oh, Great Mythal, protector, mother, and teacher, I entreat with you, shield us from this great evil that we now face."

The words rolled offer her tongue in a fluid grace as she recited the prayer. She could almost feel the magic within her stir with the words. With a deep sigh, she lifted her head and released the ranger's hand only to see Falon's unreadable expression. "I'm sorry, I had thought…it was only a prayer…"

"I know what it was," Falon nearly whispered. She made to leave, but suddenly turned back. She pulled at a leather cord from around her neck and quickly threw it over the mage's head. "Here, you should take this."

The leather cord was nothing special, just simple raw hide, but tethered to the end of it looked to be a long claw of some animal.

"What is it?"

"It's…it will protect you. Just keep it on until this is done."

Without another word, Falon retreated back and disappeared amidst the various debris that lined the street. Slightly taken aback by the woman's strange gift, Merrill attempted to shove the thought aside and focus on the task at hand, at least for now.

It was then that she realized that she still could not see where the creature was or the Orlesian knights. As carefully as she could, she picked her way through the haphazard pieces of wood and debris. Several times, the moldy wood groaned under her weight, but she stumbled out of the way before she could trip. Finally, she felt she was at least in the general position to attack. From the sound of the frantic horses, it seemed as if it were almost upon them. She needed to get out into the street to at least get a clear shot, but as she pushed against some of the debris, the rotten wood gave way and she was thrown face first onto the cobblestone.

She wasn't a stranger to battle. She had proven that time and again, but the next moments that ensued after she had stumbled into that street proved to be one of the more harrowing moments of her life. As soon as it cast it white, murky eyes on her, she froze.

The creature smelled of death.

It was no hound she had ever before seen, but to call it a hound seemed like a dishonor to such creatures. It snarled and growled as a hound would, yet it moved like a black, silken shroud. There was no life in its eyes. Only hunger and thirst and hate. Its grisly, bristled fur that covered stretched, leathery skin was the color of dried blood, but she was unsure if it was because it was that color or if it was stained from the blood of its victims. The longer she stared at the monster, the more she forgot what she needed to do.

It came closer. Turning its sights from the wounded chevaliers, it stalked closer to her. It hated her. It despised her and everything she was. She knew this. The mage didn't know why or how she did, but as each second passed, she knew that it craved her blood more and more. Even now, as it pulled back its salivating jowls to reveal rancid fangs, she could hear voices shouting at her, but she couldn't move, not in a presence of so much hate and fear.

A barrage of blackened metal and screams suddenly filled her vision. Merrill was thrown back as the wounded chevalier and nearly wild horse charged the Void stalker. Her rattled senses had only enough time to see the horseman's mace come down on the creature's head with a satisfying crack, but the knight might as well as used a pillow for all the effect it did to it. The Void stalker snatched the man's weapon and ripped it from his grasp, nearly tearing him from his horse in the process. The horse shied away, almost dropping its rider to the ground. The Void stalker lunged just as a black sword swung up.

A sharp, ear-splitting cry echoed off the rough stone walls. Falon gripped her blade with both hands as she wrenched the metal deeper into the Void stalker's left eye. The creature swiped at her with its tail and nearly blind-sided her before she could duck away. It attacked again with its claws, but the ranger remained just out of reach as she tried to force its head down to the ground. With a savage snarl, the Void stalker flung its head to the side and effectively tearing its face free of Falon's blade. Believing the creature to be distracted, the wounded chevalier pressed his attack on the creature. Even with half its face sliced open and having only one eye, the Void stalker still had the use of its long reptilian-like tail. Before any of them could shout a warning, the spiked tail came up and embedded itself into the man's throat. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The creature thrashed its bloodied appendage from side to side. Blood splattered around it as it hissed angrily at those who stilled remained. Suddenly, Falon's blade came down, caught the spiked end of the tail with her sword, and just when the creature was about to pounce, her dagger slashed off nearly a fourth of its appendage along with the spikes.

Someone was suddenly by her side pulling and yelling for her to get up.

"Merrill, please mage, please get up!"

Merrill shook off the last dregs that stifled her mind and allowed the young woman to help her up. She tried to pull her down the alley as the monster screamed with the loss of its tail. The chevalier who had carried Lia placed himself in-between them and the fray. His sword was drawn and the visor of his helmet was obscuring his face from view.

"_Fuir_!" he shouted.

"Quickly, he says we need to flee."

A scream-like yelp came from the ranger after the Void stalker snaked it bleeding tail around her leg and threw her several feet into one of the vendor's stalls.

Merrill pulled her arm free and urged the woman towards the alley, "Go find someplace you can hide."

Without waiting to hear her pleas, the mage took a position behind the chevalier and his large charger. The knight only regarded her for a few moments after her hands began to glow with the magic of the Fade, but he quickly turned his attention back onto the Void stalker. Its sight was fixed on the ranger that had yet to emerge from the shattered wreckage she had been thrown into. The knight spurred his horse and both charged the monstrous creature. His sword raised high in to the air as she felt the cold bite of her magic around her hands. The metal came down just as she released the spell.

Suddenly, the Void stalker was gone, and both attacks missed as the creature leapt into the air, vaulted off the wall, and pounced on the knight's exposed back. Lia screamed from the alley and Merrill quickly summoned another spell. The next moment, the rider was pulled from his horse, but as the creature bared it fangs, Merrill's crushing prison engulfed it. The Void stalker snarled vehemently as it staggered beneath the force of her magic, but already, she could feel the spell breaking. Suddenly, the creature let out a bellowing howl and shattered the spell gripping it. Merrill had only a fraction of a second to produce a barrier before the Void stalker came crashing down on her. The force nearly knocked both her and her shield to the ground, but the monster was determined to break through as it continued to claw and throw itself against it.

Her magic was waning under the onslaught, and just when she thought that she would be done for, a mass of gleaming silver armor blindsided the Void stalker. Her magic dispersed and she quickly tried to distance herself as the chevalier struck the creature again and again as he drove it back. The sound of crunching bone and metal was sickening to her ears, but she forced herself to focus on the next spell. She was soon ready, but as she waited for an opening, the wrenching of metal and a wet, strangled gasp made her still.

She had not noticed it before, but the monster's front paws were unnaturally long, and it wasn't until the creature had reared up on his hind legs and was now crushing the chevalier's neck with one of its front paws did she realize how hand-like they were. In a fraction of a second, the Void stalker had pushed the knight onto his back. Its rotten teeth flashed and bit down on the man's helm before tearing it away and decapitating the knight.

In the distance, she could hear Lia's muffled cry as the chevalier's blood pooled beneath the Void stalker. Merrill summoned her magic to her once more. Fire erupted around the monster, but it didn't even seem to recognize the burning of the flames. Electricity coiled around it, but still, no reaction as it steadily prowled closer. Earth. Ice. Even her curses. They rolled off the monster as easily as rain water slid off of oiled leather. It was now only a few feet away, and already she could feel the suffocating grip of fear as its putrid breath washed over her.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Blindly, she reached for her bow. Her head was throbbing with an unearthly pain, but she forced the bile down her throat. Her legs and arms felt unbroken, which meant she had no excuse to not stand and draw her weapon. It was still out there. She could practically taste the defilement in the air, and any moment, it would be on Merrill.

The familiar, warm wood was cradled in her hands and for some miraculous reason, it was undamaged. She produced an arrow and rubbed the black fletching into the weeping wound on her temple. The dark red blood was almost undistinguishable against the raven feather fletching, but it would serve its purpose all the same. Stumbling out of the rubble, she easily spotted the Void stalker about to finish off the mage. She took aim and fired. The arrow found its mark in the creature's leathery skin near the shoulder and buried itself deep, almost to the feathers. The Void stalker barely acknowledged the wound, as it grasped its prey in its dexterous claws. Suddenly, its nose flared before dropping the mage and slowly turned towards the ranger.

"That's it, you black-bloodied monstrosity," she growled under her breath. She reshouldered her bow and crouched low. "Come on."

The Void stalker flared its nose again as it scented the air. There was a sharp intake of breath before it reared its head back and let out a shrieking roar. Falon braced herself as it suddenly charged, its claws scoring the bloodied cobblestone streets. Her heart was beating furiously. In just one stride, it was nearly halfway to her. Every instinct said to run, but a basic, wilder part of herself said that they needed to finish this. A second stride and it was too late to run. There were only two options now and one was her lying in a pool of her own blood. On the creature's third stride, she could smell the blood of its victims on its breath and see the bloodstains that still lingered on its fangs.

At the last second, she spun on her foot and flung herself to the side as claws came within a hairs breadth of her throat. The creature tried to rotate itself in midair, but as it turned, its side was exposed to the large splintered beam jutting from the wooden wreckage.

She didn't waste time to see if it had finally perished. It would take more than that for such an abomination to be put down. The continuing cries of splintering wood and the Void Stalker was evidence enough. She ran as fast as her haggard legs would allow back towards Merrill. Already, she was attempting another spell. She respected the mage's resolve, but they were far too outmatched by just one of these monsters. She knew this the second she saw the creature.

The horses were frightened and frantic even more so with the loss of their riders. She was amazed that they hadn't fled already. A sharp whistle from her and two sets of ears perked up. One came to her readily, eager for some form security in the chaos. She grabbed its reins and brought the animal to the frightened young elf and Merrill.

"Get on," Falon ordered as she gestured to the horse. The charger was massive, almost two heads taller than the elf at the withers. They hesitated while the mage looked over her shoulder at the thrashing Void stalker still trying to break free. "Merrill, we don't have time!"

She grabbed the elf and with a surprising amount of strength, pushed her on top of the horse. Lia suddenly rushed forward and scrambled up on the animal as soon as Merrill was seated.

"Bring Lia back to the Alienage," Falon stated, "then head south for the forest."

"What about you?"

She inwardly cringed at the sound of Merrill's voice. It was gravelly and seemed pained as she spoke. She would most likely have bruising around her throat later.

"It has the scent of my blood. It will be able to track me no matter where I go."

Behind them, the Void stalker roared again as it thrashed amidst the splintered wood. The sound of cracking and tearing was growing louder. Falon pushed the animal away, but Merrill turned its head back.

"You said you would lead us through the Arbor Wilds."

"Damn it Merrill, I've said a lot of things in my life. It doesn't mean that I've seen them all through. At least this way, I can buy you some time."

"No! I'm not letting you go back on your word, not when I've come this far already. You're coming with me or…or…"

The Void stalker snarled and the horse began to fight for its head. Falon glared up at the mage before turning her head and cursing under her breath.

"I'm sorry, Merrill," she stated before running a hand over the horse's forehead. "Get them to the Alienage as fast as you can. Don't stop no matter what they say."

"What? Falon, no!" The charger nickered and surged forward at a breakneck speed as both elves clung to the huge animal. "Falon!"

The horse and its riders disappeared around the corner as the beam that had impaled the Void stalker finally snapped in half. The creature struggled to move with the massive pole jutting through it gut, but turned its furious gaze on her none the less. Falon sneered at the creature and returned its detestable gaze back tenfold. She hated the fact that she was reduced to fleeing from such a vile creature like frightened prey, but it would only finish her off in a matter of seconds before running down Merrill and Lia and killing them just for spite. Even now, the bodies of the men that had tried to protect them were hollow reminders for her. The creature followed her gaze and almost seemed to smirk.

"You tried to kill Merrill," she stated. The Void stalker slumped forward as it chortled with a growl. Falon loosened her sword at her side, "I can promise you, before the sun sets, one way or another, I will be standing over your corpse."

Again the creature laughed and hissed mockingly at her, _"_We shall see, hunter_."_

Falon suddenly spun on her foot and dashed for the last horse still in the street. She vaulted onto the animal and spurred it on. The Void stalker raced after her with a terrifying howl as it snapped at the horse's hooves. She drove the horse down the street and in the opposite direction of the Alienage. Her only intent was to lead the monster away from Merrill and the others, but little did she realize that she what she was running towards.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"All that I would ask of you, Fenris, would be for you to heed my guidance."

He had heard such promises before. They were nothing more than stories and lies to coerce the naïve and the stupid or those too desperate to believe otherwise. Yet, despite knowing this, these promises still taunted him. Even now, there was an internal battle as one side of him demanded the head of the mage, while another wanted to reach out and take what the mage offered.

"And in return?"

"In return," he stated, "I would give you that which you seek. Power, freedom, the life you have lost."

His jaw hardened at the mage's words, "I no longer have an interest in the life I once had. What I want now are means in which to be free of you and your kind."

"Understandable as well as attainable. So then, what say you?"

"I say take your offer and shove it up your ass right after I shoot you in the face."

With an amazing display of speed and accuracy, the mage spun and knocked the bolt away. It ricocheted off the wall and clattered to the ground. The mage's voice lost all traces of his earlier amity and became contorted with aversion and ire as he turned his attentions to the rogue.

"Ill-advised, dwarf."

Varric glared down Bianca's sights to the mage, "Trust me, this isn't the dumbest thing I've done before, but it will certainly be one of the more enjoyable ones."

The mage's right hand flared with an acid green light and the next instance, a massive explosion erupted with a cloud of dust and debris around the dwarf. Shocked by the sudden display of power, Fenris rolled to his feet and distanced himself from the mage as he searched for any sign of the dwarf.

The mage flexed his hand and cracked his knuckles as he scoffed at the space that the dwarf had just been, "Pathetic stone children. Ignorant and thick as the rocks they surround themselves with." The mage finally returned back to him, and while his cowl still hid his features, he couldn't mask the pleasure in his voice, "I'm still waiting for an answer, Fenris."

There were a series of loud clicks which, after endless skirmishes with the rogue, was enough warning for him to duck to the side. Three arrows jettisoned from behind him. One found the mage in his shoulder and another found his hip while the last was avoided.

"Damn it, Fenris, either help me kill this bastard or get out of the way!"

Another series of bolts were fired from the shadows far down the hallway. The mage's barrier repelled most of them as his hand began to glow with the same green light. He reached out down the hallway and the next moment, Varric's grunts were heard as the dwarf was pulled from his hiding spot right into the mage's grasp. The mage held him by the throat as he wretched the bolt from his shoulder and the other from his hip.

"You're going to pay for that, you little dirt eater."

"Trust me, after what you did to Blind-eye," the dwarf growled, "I'm only sorry that I didn't hit you where I could have done some real damage. But considering how you Imperium mages are always afraid to get your hands dirty when it comes to a real fight, I'm hard pressed to think you even have the equipment for me to hit."

The shrouded mage chuckled, "Is that what's gotten you riled, Tethras? Upset that that my hospitality to your friend was not up to your standards. I'll make sure to ask him about it later on."

"Don't bother you son of a bitch. Not even you can touch him now."

"I must say, that's unfortunate news. I still had some use of him after I gutted you and fed that Dalish elf and hermit to my pets."

Varric spat in his face as he clawed at the mage's iron grip. The magic began to surround the mage's hand once more until a sword came down and cleaved off the arm holding the dwarf. With one hand, Fenris brought the sword up in a swinging arc and charged the mage. The force of the elf's attack impaled him and pinned him to the wall.

The hood fell away to reveal a fair-featured man in his prime. His blonde hair obscured one of his dark brown eyes and half of his face that was marred with four deeply set scars running from his temple to the base of his throat. But as Fenris twisted his sword and the mage convulsed around it, he began to laugh while coughing on his own blood.

The mage looked up and smiled at him revealing perfectly straight, white teeth, "Well done, Fenris. Well done."

The elf sneered down at the grinning mage. He continued to stare up at him with the same mocking smile and did so even as Fenris left his cooling corpse among the wreckage. He wiped off his blade and reshouldered it before trying to help the dwarf to his feet. Varric allowed him to pull him up by his elbow, but as soon as he was steady, the dwarf blindsided him with one of his fists.

"By the Void, what kind of nug-shit was that, Fenris! I should have had the right mind to have shot you."

For once, the elf was in agreement and even his blood didn't wash away the disgusting taste in his mouth after the encounter with the mage. Just like before when faced with the pride demon, he was too weak to his own temptations, and again, there was no excuse for him. Even now, he couldn't believe how easily he had been seduced.

Varric cursed again as he rubbed his bruised neck, "Damn it, Fenris. Look, I can't say I've known what you've been through, but do you really think matching them in power is going to help you?"

"You've made your point, dwarf. Let's move on."

With one last disdainful look, the dwarf sighed and shouldered his crossbow, "Whatever you say, elf." He approached the corpse of the mage and kicked his boot. For a moment, he thought the dwarf was going to spit on him, but instead, he simply glared down at the fallen mage. "Who was this bastard, anyways?"

"He mentioned being an apprentice of sorts to Denarius," he replied as he examined his injured shoulder.

"That's not very surprising. How many of those does he have anyway?"

With a loud pop, the elf shoved the bone back in place, "As many as he deems disposable, it seems." He flexed his fingers and rotated his elbow as he inspected his sword arm for any further injuries.

"Terrific," Varric murmured. Around them, the earlier screams and cries of panic seemed to have ceased, but he doubted their presence would go unnoticed for much longer.

"We should go. The guard will be coming to investigate soon," the elf pointed out.

The dwarf only gave him the briefest of nods to indicate he had heard him. Bianca was suddenly in his hands followed by the thud of a bolt being fired into the mage's forehead. Varric reshouldered his weapon and made his way down the ruined hallway with the elf in tow. When they reached the deserted barroom, both realized something wasn't right.

"Is it just me, or are the screams getting louder," Varric stated.

"It's coming from the street."

"Oh, good to know that we aren't the only ones causing mayhem in the city today." An ear-piercing roar made both the warrior and rogue reach for their weapons. "Then again, that doesn't sound like the kind of mayhem I'm accustomed to."

As they eased out of the brothel and into the street, the sounds of the terrified masses could be heard from the Alienage and the Middle Quarter. Varric loaded another bolt as he made sure Bianca was tucked securely into his shoulder.

"With our damn luck, watch it be another ten or fifteen Crows again."

Fenris made no reply when he heard the thunderous approach of a horse barreling down the street. From the sound of it, he guessed it to be a chevalier and grimaced. This was not the most convenient of times to encounter an Orleasian knight, especially since they were the only ones standing amidst the ruins of the building.

"We should go," the elf stated and made for the southern gate.

"Right behind you. Let's at least hope Daisy and Falon haven't had half an exciting morning as we've had."

The terrified and frantic whinny of the horse came from right in front of them. They had just enough time to scramble to the side before being trampled by the horse's iron-clad hooves. But it wasn't the horse that grabbed his attention, it was the rider.

"Did that look like Falon to you?" the dwarf asked as strained his neck to get a glimpse of the rider.

The charger was pulled to such a sudden halt that it nearly sat on its hunches. It reared and thrashed its head, but the rider was somehow able to turn the creature around. Bloodied and ragged, he instantly recognized the woman. With a look that was nearly as frantic as the horse, she unsheathed her sword.

"Get down!"

In a rare occurrence, he was caught by surprise. The dwarf was just barely successful in pushing him out of the way as a massive, blood-stained monster rushed past him in a torrent of growls and snarls. It paid them little attention at first. In less than three strides, it closed the distance between it and the horse. Before the woman could move out of the way, it tore her from the mount, but not before she sliced it across the face, ruining its remaining eye. Her head bounced off the stone street and she remained still. The dog-like creature let out a vengeful wailing howl as it thrashed around blindly but somehow miraculously missed the prone woman on the ground.

"Shit," Varric cursed as he readied a bolt, "we need to get her out of there before that thing tears out her throat."

Already his sword was being drawn as he closed the distance between him and the monster. Even blinded, the creature sensed him before he was even within striking distance. A damaged tail swiped at his feet. He avoided it and cleaved off another piece of it. The creature roared and barreled into his direction as it attempted to maul him. He brought his sword up again, but as it came down on the monster's exposed neck, it was as if he was trying to cut through a solid rod of steel.

The creature snapped its head around and wrapped its teeth around his blade. It flung its head and threw him and his weapon. He contorted his body awkwardly and was just barely able to remain on his feet. The creature rushed him blindly and he was able to slice it across the head with a sweep of his blade. The monster staggered, but the wound was little more than a deep gash. Several bolts buried themselves into its hindquarters, but it only seemed to enrage it even more. It spun in the direction of the dwarf who was already lining up another shot. Behind him, the ranger was still lying motionless on the ground.

A sharp whistle from him followed by a shallow cut to the creature's side, quickly got its attention, "You're opponent is me, demon."

It snarled and slashed at him again. He was able to block the haphazard attack, but failed to anticipate the creature's stubbed tail as it connected with his chest. His armor made a harsh grating noise over the stone as he was hurled down the street until finally coming to an abrupt stop into a wall.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Despite her frantic tugging, the animal refused to listen to her. Eventually, it twisted its head and snatched the reins from her to keep the mage from pulling on its mouth.

"You have to go back!" Merrill shouted again. The animal ignored her and continued its gallop through the streets seemingly determined to fulfill the ranger's orders. "By the Dread Wolf, why are all _shemlan_ animals so stubborn?"

The horse huffed, but continued to run. Merrill gave her own frustrated cry and finally conceded into allowing the horse to take her away. She felt a small hand gently pat her shoulder as the elf behind her attempted to consol her.

"Your friend seems very resourceful. I'm sure she will be alright."

"I hope so," Merrill sighed. "At least, she's been in similar situations in the past."

"Thank you for saving me. We had only gotten word that something was in the marketplace only moments after you left. I thought I could catch you both, but I lost you in the crowd. And then that thing…."

The woman trembled and Merrill patted her arm reassuringly, "You'll be safe once you're with you papa again."

"Will we? It had killed several knights in a matter of seconds. If that one chevalier hadn't pulled me onto his horse, I would be dead in the streets now."

"If I've learned anything in my stay around the elves of Kirkwall, it's that your ties to each other are just as strong as the ones I had with my clan. You'll be safe with your people."

She felt Lia nod behind her back. Soon, they began to see more elves as the last of the stragglers fled to the Alienage. Large iron riot gates that were similar to the ones back in Kirkwall were now partially shut as the last of the elves made their way past. Just outside of them, a lone elf was frantically scanning those who ran past him. Suddenly, his eyes set on them as the horse approached and he jumped down from the rickety wooden scaffolding he had been standing on.

"Lia!"

"Papa!" The young woman vaulted off the horse and ran to the arms of her father. "Papa, I'm so glad you're alright. You won't believe what I saw."

"Hush, girl. You're safe now." He began leading her through the gates and motioned for the mage to follow. "Hurry, they're evacuating everyone into the Alienage. We should be safe there until the guards secure the other quarters."

Another huge explosion sounded from the Tavern Quarter which caused even more elves to rush past the gates.

"Go without me," Merrill said as she pulled on the reins. This time, the horse yielded to her commands.

"You aren't coming?" Lia asked.

Merrill shook her head, "I have to go back for my friends. Besides, Falon's saved my life on more than one occasion now. I wouldn't be doing a good job of returning the favor if I listened to her and fled."

"Don't be a fool, girl," Elren said as he held his daughter. "Whatever's out there has already torn through at least two brigades of chevaliers and nearly a dozen city guards."

"Falon fought by my side when a giant sea monster threatened to drown us. And Varric, he's always looked out for me, despite everything I am and have done. Even Fenris protected me when we fled Kirkwall. I'm not running unless they're right behind me, and if they wish to fight, then so will I."

Elren went to interject, but Lia placed a hand on his shoulder, "Don't try to stop her, papa. You wouldn't let them give up on me before, why shouldn't you do the same for her friends?"

"Do what you must then," he replied solemnly. "Once again, thank you and may your gods be with you."

Merrill nodded her farewell to the two and urged the horse back towards where she had last left Falon and hoped that she wasn't too late for her, Varric, and Fenris.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"This thing just doesn't know when to quit," Varric growled as he shot it in the chest, but it didn't even flinch as the bolt buried itself into its lung. The elf had just picked himself up seconds after being thrown around like a rag doll and was attempting to cleave off the thing's head again, "But at least I can say the same for our elf."

He wasn't quite sure if this was some kind of demon, darkspawn, or what, but it certainly wasn't a pushover. And how the ranger had run into it in the middle of the city was beyond him. But as he watched Fenris continuously hack away at its leather-like hide, retreat was looking more and more favorable by the second.

"Assuming we can outrun this thing," he said to himself as Bianca fired off another volley at it.

The gravely moan behind him didn't distract him from his target, "Have a good nap? Because we could use some help here." A grunt was his only reply, but at least the ranger was able to get to her feet. "I don't know where you found your friend here, but he's proving to be a real pain in the ass."

Falon hissed as she clutched the back of her head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her fingertips stained a bright red as she pulled back her hand. Both their attentions were pulled back to the fight as Fenris cursed when the creature snatched him by the leg and attempted to snap it in half. It finally released him when the hilt of his blade struck the side of its head.

"It takes more than just metal and brute strength to bring something like this down," she shouted over the fray.

"Well I for one am open for any suggestions," Varric replied as he successfully pinned one of its back legs to the ground. His victory was short lived however as it merely wretched its limb free with a spray of black blood. "Damn it, then what in the Void will it take to kill this thing!"

"We need to run," she said. "He can't keep that up forever, but that thing sure can."

"We've been hacking away at it but it might as well have been a series of love taps. How do you expect us to get away on foot?" the dwarf asked.

Suddenly, Fenris angry curses were cut short as the monster knocked him to the ground and pinned him there.

He fired at both its head and heart, but the bolts merely bounced off or stuck haphazardly in its skin, "Shit."

"Hold on!" Falon snatched up her dropped sword and raced into the fray.

The high pitch cry of a horse was there only warning before a massive burst of force magic erupted in the street. All of them were knocked off their feet, but the demon-dog was catapulted across the street and into the ruined brothel.

Varric smirked at the sight of the tiny elf on top of the massive destrier. He didn't know how either of them had gotten a hold of the animals, but truth be told, the mage was a welcomed sight, even if they had just received part of the back-lash of her spell.

"Is everyone alright?" the little mage panted.

The scream-like roar was the only response. All of them readied their weapons and waited for it to emerge. Seconds ticked by like hours, but there was no sign of the thing. With inhuman speed, the creature streaked from the shadows of the building right towards the ranger. Her sword was only just able to come up to block the attack, but her legs were bending precariously under the strain.

"Aim for its heart," she shouted as it pushed her back. "If we wound that, we might finally slow it down."

As soon as the words were spoken, an intense flash of blue flooded the street. The monster let out the most ear-piercing wail before the elf twisted his arm and wretched out a black mass. It fell to its side while the four of them stared warily at its still form. When the last grating breath left the creature, there was a unanimous sigh of relief.

The ranger pulled her sword from the creature and practically collapsed next to the demon dog as she sagged to her knees in exhaustion. Meanwhile, the elf inspected his grim trophy for only a moment before dropping the black heart onto the creature's shriveling corpse.

"Why didn't you just do that to begin with?" Varric asked.

"I did not have the opportunity."

Falon's head snapped up and her eyes widened when she spotted Fenris's black, blood stained gauntlets. She scrambled to her feet and pulled out a brown bottle from one of the pouches on her belt.

"Falon, what is it?" Merrill asked.

She didn't reply as she approached the elf and unscrewed the lid of the bottle, "Hold out you arm." The elf slowly sheathed his sword as his merely stared at the bottle and then at the woman. "Damn it, let me see your arm. Lyrium or not, a Void stalker's blood is toxic and you just shoved half your arm into one."

Cautiously he extended his arm. She rinsed all of it from his wrist to his elbow in what appeared to be water, but when it came in contact with the black blood, it began to fizzle and bubble. A few seconds later, the elf was scrambling to remove his gauntlets.

Falon attempted to stop him, "If it's burning, it means it's working. Give it a minute to purify it all."

The elf's glare was less than heartening, but he at least grudgingly did as she instructed. While the ranger tended to the elf, Varric went to check on the small mage. She had yet to dismount from the destrier and he guessed it was due to it being such a long drop to the ground for her. She was pale and more than a little shaken, but still, she looked rather secure on the large animal.

"Good timing back there, Daisy."

"I would have been here sooner, but well…"

"You got lost, didn't you?"

"Yes," she replied somewhat meekly. "I thought I would just follow the smoke, but I kept getting turned around. In the end, I think he knew where I wanted to go and just brought me," she said as she patted the armored neck of the horse.

Fenris cursed loudly in Arcanum as Falon removed parts of his vambrace and poured more of the solution on his skin.

"If you keep struggling like that, I'm just going to have to put more on," the ranger snapped.

"What is this foul concoction anyway? It feels like its burning off my skin faster than this so called cursed blood."

Varric glanced down at the corpse that seemed to be slowly decaying into a pool of black goo. In the places where the blood had congregated, there were small wisp of vapor as it slowly ate through the rough stone.

"I think you better listen to her, elf," he said as he gestured to the muck. "If it can eat through stone like that, I don't want to see what it could do to bone."

The ranger quickly hid her slightly smug smirk before she finished tending to the elf.

"What were you two doing here so early in the day anyway, Varric?" Merrill asked.

Varric felt the words catch in his throat when he remembered Blind-eye and the blood mage. There was also the matter of the old man's last words and the elf's less than unexpected enthrallment. All of which, he was in no mood to discuss with the others at the current time.

"Just tying up a few less ends is all."

He caught the ranger's eye as she tightened a bandage over the elf's arm. Fenris snatched his arm away as soon as she finished the knot, while she tossed his armor back at him with a little more force than was necessary.

"So you want to tell me what that thing was?" Varric asked the ranger, "Because frankly, ogres are less trouble."

"Have you ever fought an ogre?" Falon asked as she eyed the decaying sludge in front of them.

"On more than one occasion," the dwarf replied. "As well as a few dragons. Including a high dragon and all its brood. Not that I'm bragging or anything."

"It's obvious you knew what it was as well as how to best kill it," Fenris stated. "There is no point in stating otherwise."

"I never said I didn't know what it was," she shot back.

"Then perhaps you would enlighten us?" the elf practically growled.

Falon returned the hardened stare with one of her own before continuing, "It's was a Void stalker. They're not animals corrupted by the darkspawn taint, they're something else."

"And here I had my money on it being some new breed of archdemon-dog. It sure did fight like one," Varric mused.

"The last time I came across one of these, I watched a blood mage finish a ritual. The Veil tore and this is what stepped out. They are fiercely loyal to whoever summons them as long as they are…fed."

"So it is a demon," Fenris stated.

"I guess in the simplest terms, yes. I just know that even after its master died, it continued to follow its orders to try and kill me. It bloodied me and was then able to track me down weeks after. The only way I killed it was by pushing it off a cliff onto several sharpened rocks and skewering its heart."

"You're saying that these creatures follow the bidding of blood mages," Fenris stated. "I've never seen or heard of something like that before."

"You know how demons are usually the essence of a vice or sin and are attracted to mages that emanate those vices? Well, the mage I encountered before…he was a twisted, sick bastard."

"That's kind of the prerequisite or norm for most blood mages," Varric stated before quickly turning to Merrill, "present company excluded, of course."

"You don't understand. These things aren't attracted to those who seek power. They relish the smell of death and blood and seek out those who share similar traits."

"Well, at least that explains where it came from," Varric murmured as the monster finally disintegrated into a black, oily puddle.

"What do you mean?"

Varric steeled himself for their explanation, but thankfully it was the elf who stepped in, "We were ambushed by another apprentice of Denarius."

"They're here already?" Merrill asked.

"How did they even know we were coming here?" the ranger snapped.

"It doesn't matter at this point, does it?" Fenris quickly stated. Inwardly, Varric was praising the broody elf. For once, he was in no mood to tell a tale especially after realizing he was still covered in Blind-eye's blood. "The forest is in reach and we now have an even quicker means of travel. I say we take the horses and leave now before we are discovered by the guard or any more hunters lurking in the shadows."

The warrior retrieved the other horse that had remained in the street, despite its rider being torn from it. The elf made quick work of removing most of its heavy, cumbersome armor before swinging up into the saddle. But instead of mounting one of the horses, Falon gazed at the remains of the brothel and flexed her sword hand several times. In the distance, Varric could hear the approached of more armored horses and allowed the elf to haul him up onto the horse.

"We haven't the time," Varric stated. "I don't think even I could talk our way out of this one if they catch us here."

She scowled at the rubble and then quickly scrambled up on the horse behind Merrill. With a few sharp kicks, they were racing down the streets, out the city gates, and had made it to the shelter of the trees just before the sun had reached midday.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"Marie," the woman hissed, "Marie, don't"

The young woman was barely able to keep the tremble out of her voice as she watched her friend approach the corpse of the man. From the looks of his robes and staff, he was most likely a mage, but if that wasn't enough for her not to go looting his body, then the amount of blood and gore that covered him would.

"Marie, please come back. The guards will be coming soon and I don't want to be here when they do."

"Hush, Gabrielle. The elf and the dwarf didn't take anything; he may very well still have something on him."

The woman did not reply, but remained huddled in the corner of the hallway. After working so long in the brothel, she had seen enough fights, even some in which one or both died, but she had never seen or heard a confrontation like the one that took place only a few rooms down from hers. Even while most of the others had fled when it first broke out, she had been too afraid to even think of her and Marie leaving their quarters. However, once it was over, and she hoped they could finally leave, Marie had stopped them and was now attempting to steal from the dead mage. Gabrielle clutched her silken dress. Everything about this was wrong, but she didn't dare leave by herself.

"Please, Marie," she begged again. "Please, can we just leave?"

"Just one more moment."

The woman easily peeled back the bloodied robes, but as her hand reached for his belt pouch, a long spidery hand clamped around her wrist. Marie barely had enough time to scream before the same hand suddenly released her onto seize her by the throat. Gabrielle stifled a scream as the dead man's eyes slowly opened to reveal a pair of glassy, fogged brown eyes. The tips of his fingers cut into the woman's skin and crept beneath her flesh with a painstaking slowness. An eerie green glow surrounded him and Marie as her eyes began to roll back into her head. Gabrielle huddled into a corner and covered her mouth to stem the torrent of wails that continuously threatened to expose her presence. As she looked upon the horrid sight, Marie slowly began to waste away until only a dried, withered husk remained of her. The mage tossed the body of her friend aside and rubbed his head. The wounds on the mage's forehead and body sealed until there weren't even scars left except for the ones that stretched from his temple to his throat. He reached over and grabbed his limb that was lying near him and pressed in into his shoulder. There were several wet crunching sounds coming from him, and when it stopped, she watched in fascinated horror as he flexed and rotated his once severed arm. He then rose with a soft grunt and brushed the dust and dried off blood from his robes. He stumbled as he picked up his staff and seemed to be dizzy for a moment.

Suddenly, he called out in a commanding voice, "Inshunni."

Several moments passed. Marie prayed to the Maker and Andraste that if she made it through this, she would renounce her ways and devote herself to the Chantry.

The mage scowled and shouted again, "Inshunni, to me!" He paused, closed his eyes, and then suddenly let out a curse, "Impossible! How could they have...Fenris." There was almost a hint of a smile before he ran his fingers though his disheveled hair. "You and your companions are more resourceful than I had thought. We'll see how much longer that lasts." He held up his hand, the same one that he had shoved into Marie's throat, "However, it seems I am still a bit weak." To her horror, he immediately turned in the direction of her darkened corner. "I suppose you will suffice."

* * *

Whew. Okay, I had planned to get that out days ago, but well...the flu sucks. What can I say?

Again, thanks for all that have been keeping up with the story. You're support is greatly appreciated. Until next time everyone!


	14. Of Those Who Are Lost

A/N: Thanks again for everyone who's reviewed and once again, I still don't anything. Enjoy!

* * *

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,

We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;

But were we burdened with like weight of pain,

As much or more we should ourselves complain.

~William Shakespeare

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He could barely make out what they were shouting over the thunder of the horses' hooves, much less see where they actually running to. His only clear view was when he peeked over his shoulder to see the flashes of horse flesh through the trees and nearly a dozen torches as the knights continued to pursue them.

"So much for Orleasians' superstitions of the Dales," Varric murmured.

He thought that as soon as they made it past the tree line that they would just give up the chase. These horses weren't exactly bred to be as nimble as those little white deer the Dalish had. So they didn't as much ride through the trees as much and crash through them. However, the only reason that they had been able to keep this much ground between the knights and themselves was Fenris's and Falon's innate ability to actually pick out the small spaces in the paths between the trees that their horses could fit through. The fact that they took the time to remove all that armor probably helped out as well.

And then, he heard it pierce through all the noise and chaos around him. At first, it sounded like the wind, but it grew louder and louder as more and more joined in, until it sounded like there were hundreds of them. The moment the horses heard it, they screamed and fought for their heads.

Wolves.

Falon and Daisy were suddenly coming back towards them from the path up ahead, "It's blocked!"

Fenris reined their horse around just as another chorus cut through the twilight. The animals screamed again, they reared up and nearly toppled him off its back.

"Enough!" Fenris shouted over the chaos. "We can't outrun the knights all night and deal with wolves. We make a stand now!"

"No, Fenris wait!" the ranger called out.

But the elf had yanked the horse's head around and began crashing through the underbrush. He could hear the ranger cursing vehemently behind him, but already they were breaking through a treeline into an open field that stretched for a few hundred yards. As soon as they were free of the trees, they whipped the horses into a gallop and flew to the other side of the field.

"I thought you wanted to make a stand?" Varric shouted over the wind.

Fenris sat up so abruptly that the horse nearly sat on its hunches as it was pulled to a halt. He vaulted off the horse, pulling him along with him. Behind them, Falon and Merrill dropped from their horse. The ranger was glaring at the elf, as she pulled her bow out and set an arrow.

"Get one of your spells ready, mage," Fenris stated as he loosened his sword and faced the treeline they had just raced from.

Another howl cut through the dwindling light. This time it sounded much closer.

Falon drew back her bow and fixed her sights on the trees, "This is a mistake. We should have kept riding."

"The horses are spent. They would have lasted only a few hours more. Now focus on the task at hand."

"You do realize, elf," Varric stated as Bianca clicked into place, "that there's at least twelve of them, and those horses can cover a lot of ground very quickly."

"Then I suggest you make each shot count," he replied as he pulled out his sword.

Varric merely shrugged. At another time, he would almost be insulted by the comment, but for some reason, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't focus. And that right there, that was a death sentence.

The horses burst through the trees, and already he knew their estimate had been shamefully off. The bastards had sent a small company after them, perhaps fifteen, maybe twenty in all. Whatever their small group had done, they had certainly pissed off some higher ups this time.

Falon had already let loose two arrows and was on her third while he was still fixing his sights on a rider. He let the bolt fly, but it veered way off. He took aim again while Daisy sent a lightning strike into the center, but her aim was off as well and only seemed to scare the horses into an even faster gallop. Again he took aim, he tried to focus on their movements and his breath. He tried to find that spot where time seemed to slow for him, but instead, all he saw was Blind-eye, his life-blood slipping through his fingers while there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it. He fired, and the bolt sailed over the line harmlessly.

"Varric!"

He ignored the elf, and again tried to focus, "C'mon Bianca."

The old man's hands had been so cold on his own. But he had never felt as nearly as cold as when he watched as the light fade from his friend's eyes, but the worst part was that he was glad. Glad in a sense because that meant he didn't have to continue suffering.

The bolt struck one this time, but it only bounced off the knight's plate armor. Already the knights had reached the midpoint of the field and they had barely made a dent in their numbers. The glow of Merrill's magic caught his eye, and too late, he had let the bolt fly, missing its target again. The next instant, lightening had taken out three riders, and maiming another two.

_'…you know what it means to lose something…'_

He fired again, and again, and again, but even the mechanical rhythm wasn't enough to drown out his voice. A chorus of ringing metal sang out in the dwindling light. Too late, he realized that they were out of ground and out of time.

_'…the forest has become weak…and vulnerable…'_

He cursed under his breath and forced his eyes to focus.

_'…swear you will find it, Varric…'_

Varric closed his eyes, but he couldn't drown out the sound of the horses or even shattering of the knights' armor. Instead, all he could hear was the old man's words.

'…_swear you will protect it…'_

"I'm sorry, Burslin."

And then his world erupted into a torrent of howls and screams.

Someone had grabbed him and began pulling him towards the trees. He was practically pushed up the nearest one while someone was already hoisting him the rest of the way. In the frenzy, he could only make out the snarling and screaming of horses and men.

"Those…those don't look like regular wolves," he heard Daisy whisper behind him.

"That's because their Blight wolves," Falon called from a branch to his right. "Fenris here, give me your hand!"

The elf slashed one of creature's heads from its shoulders before spinning around and lunging for the ranger's outstretched hands. Somehow, the heavily armored warrior was able to scramble and pull his way into the tree. Below them, he watched as maybe thirty of the same creatures finished off what was left of the knights.

"What…?"

"Their darkspawn, Varric," Daisy stated. "It's what happens when a forest wolf consumes too much darkspawn blood and becomes infected with the Blight. I've just never seen so many before or this big."

"It's as if the entire pack had been infected," Falon spat.

He turned back to the gruesome sight below him. They almost appeared to be wolves, but like darkspawn, they were merely some twisted, warped version of what they once were. Their fur was moldy and in some places it looked as if it and parts of their skin had simply dissolved off its body. Wicked and deformed spikes protruded through their backs and along their paws, making an already ruthless predator even more dangerous. But it wasn't just their appearance or their sheer size that made him pause, it was their behavior. He could almost see the ones below them calculating a way to reach them as they slowly prowled around the bases of their trees. However, the promise of fresh meat right behind them was too much and they soon lost interest.

The only reprieve their group had as they were forced to watch these darkspawn feed off their pursuers was the fact that the wolves had been quick in dispatching the wounded. But there was nothing to drown out the sound of crunching bones and ripping flesh. The sun was almost gone, but the darkness only seemed to make the sound of it even more grueling.

"How did they…?" Varric sighed and rubbed his eyes. What was going on with him?

"What happened back there, dwarf?" the elf snapped from his perch. "You missed every shot. Even the mage was able to hit her targets at least half the time and she ended up taking down five of them."

"I…don't know," the dwarf muttered. "I just couldn't tell what was happening. I don't even know how those things appeared."

"They came from underground," the mage stated. "They must have heard the chevaliers behind us when we ran passed them and simply waited for something bigger to come." He could almost feel her eyes on him. "Varric, are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, Daisy. I'll be alright. It's just another close call is all."

In truth, he didn't know what had happened. He had been able to fight the blood mage and it twisted little pet back in Halamshiral, yet the moment they entered this forest, he had felt that something was off.

"Fenris, you need to move higher up," Falon stated. "This limb is threatening to crack."

In the dim light, he could tell they were in an awkward position with Falon's back pressed against the tree's trunk and Fenris sitting right in front, facing her. The scene took his mind off his dark thoughts and would have been comical if not for the snarling throng beneath them.

"Why should I move? You are the one who is apparently adept at climbing trees."

"Because there are some thicker branches higher up, and unlike you, I'm not wearing an extra fifty stones in armor and another twenty in weaponry." The elf glanced up at the branches but made no sign of moving. "Are you afraid of heights?"

"Hardly. It's the part where I fall twenty feet that I'm concerned about."

"You're wearing plate armor," she replied as she rapped two times on his breastplate. "If you fall, you should just bounce around for a bit is all."

"And the wolves?"

"Tuck your head in a play dead. Or do Blight wolves eat carrion? I forget. In any scenario, I think you'll be fine."

Their tree limb whined and gave a sharp crack as it fell a few inches.

"I think both of you should consider moving," Daisy stated. "I don't think that tree particularly likes you right there at the moment."

Fenris didn't seem to hear her, but the second the branch splintered again, he hauled himself up higher with the ranger quickly following suite.

And that's how the night found them. The evening dragged on until the full-moon eventually rose up into the sky. Yet the Blight wolves were still there. They should have eaten their fill by now, but Varric had a sinking thought that they still remembered that the four of them were up here and were simply waiting. On top of that, there was a slight pounding in his head that was growing ever more annoying by the hour. Varric rubbed the back of his neck and felt a large welt at the base of his hairline. As soon as he touched it, bit began to itch horribly. The dwarf merely sighed and tried to ignore it.

"The moon is up. Can't you shoot them with your bow?" Fenris asked suddenly.

"I could," Falon replied in a sleepy voice, "if all of my arrows hadn't fallen out of my quiver."

"You lost _all_ of your arrows?"

"Well, it was either worry about my arrows falling out or reaching down and pulling you up into the tree while a pack of Blight wolves were snapping at your feet."

The elf had no reply to that. Fenris had yet to suggest Varric take a shot at the wolves, but the dwarf wasn't even going to attempt to reason out why not. Instead, the elf made another, somewhat drastic suggestion.

"Can't you simply burn them? They're close enough."

Varric wasn't quite sure he had heard the elf correctly. But no, Daisy had heard him too.

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that."

Fenris scoffed at the mage and mumbled something under his breath. However, he could feel Daisy shift behind him before pulling her staff out.

"I've never actually tried this spell while sitting down. This should be interesting."

"As long as you don't set us on fire this time," Fenris replied.

At that, Falon sat up abruptly before sharply turning her head to each side. Merrill had already readied the spell, but the ranger's warning came too late.

"Merrill, don't it's the dry season!"

The fireball exploded near the center of the pack, and the moment it struck, the Blight wolves scattered in all directions. Some of them ran straight into the field only to be eaten up by the flames halfway through. The remainder fled into the trees like four-legged torches, and it was then that he saw why the ranger had spoken up.

The thick mat of dry pine needles that covered the forest floor quickly caught on fire. In seconds, the smoke was starting to cause tears to come to his eyes as the fire steady crept towards the base of their trees.

"We need to jump!" the ranger shouted as she pulled her legs under her.

"What about the Blight wolves?" the little mage shouted over the ever increasing roar of the flames.

"Run towards the south. The smoke will hide our scent."

The tree they were in shuddered and he could hear the bark begin to splinter as the heat caused the inner wood to expand. Before they could even hesitate, Falon and Fenris's tree groaned and began to topple over. Both the warrior and ranger clung to their branch but at the last minute launched themselves off it, then tumbled into the grassy field, and cleared the flames by only a few feet.

"Damn," he murmured under his breath.

He took a calculating glance at Daisy and then again at the distance. Even if their tree was fortunate enough to fall like that, the chances of the mage making it through the fall in relatively one piece wasn't very likely. Just as he thought that, the tree that they were in gave an ominous shudder while he began to feel the heat start to migrate into his boots. He only needed to take another glance at the distance to make his finally decision.

"Alright, Daisy. Brace yourself and then on three, you're going to jump."

"Jump?! Jump where?"

"One."

Varric turned her in the direction of the field and the chasm of fire that steadily growing by the second.

"Varric…"

"Two."

He gave the elf a reassuring pat on her shoulder as she knelt down and gathered her legs under her. He wasn't much of a praying man, but right now, he was hoping someone up there was listening.

"Three!"

As the tree screamed beneath them and propelled them into the flames, Merrill leapt while at the same time, Varric dropped to his back and kicked the little mage off the branch. There was a brief moment where the elf was suspended in air before she came crashing down to earth, but he was unable to see if she had made it over the flames.

As he went down with the tree, he had no idea of how he was going to get out of this one. Red hot embers scorched his skin while the smoke burned and blinded him. As the tree smashed into the ground, he had enough sense to jump out of it when it was just a few feet from the ground. It had been pure instinct, and at the time, he half expected to simply role into a burning bed of embers. Instead, he was shocked to find a seemingly bare spot of dirt that had escaped the fire.

But even here, his reprieve was short lived. Flames licked at him from all sides and he knew if he didn't escape this inferno soon, there weren't going to be any second chances. In his blurry vision, he could make out a small path through the fire, but it took him in the opposite direction of the others. Cursing, he surged forward and prayed that whoever was listening, still was.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

She hit the ground with a thud and felt as if her head had bounced against the ground. Perhaps it had. At the moment, she couldn't tell. There was too much smoke, too much noise as the roar of the fire drowned out everything, too much…everything. The only thing she could make out was an incredible burning pain in her leg, but she just couldn't summon the focus to tend to it. Suddenly, she was grabbed by her shoulders and realized she was begin dragged along the ground. The next thing she realized was that her hurt leg was being smothered rather uncomfortably.

"Come on, Merrill…breathe!"

The same force on her leg moved to her chest as it started applying pressure there. It did it again. And again. And again…

Her thoughts came rushing back almost the same instant the air reached her lungs again. She hacked and coughed as her lungs tried to remember that innate pattern of breathing while still trying to remove the layer of ash and tar from them.

"Damn it, Merrill. Don't scare me like that again."

Falon was kneeling over her while Fenris stood nearby with his sword drawn. Both of them were caked in so much of the black ash that Fenris's silver hair was completely concealed by it, and Falon's pale, ivory skin was almost the same shade.

Through her coughing fit, she tried to give the ranger a reassuring smile, but failed miserably. After a moment, she was able to rasp, "Varric?"

Surprisingly, it was Fenris who answered her, "He survived the fall, but the flames forced him further in." Fenris glanced up at the black sky and then back at the burning trees. "The wind is pushing the fire into the forest. He'll never get past this wall."

"Merrill," Falon asked, "can you contain the fire?"

"I don't know. I can try."

But the instant she began to prepare her spell, another tree groaned and began to topple onto their path. Debris and embers flew high into the air as the flames roared anew. The heat was so intense, they were forced back even further.

"Varric!" the mage shouted over the flames, but she couldn't see anything.

However, it was Fenris who spotted him first, "There, at the base of the tree." Again the warrior cursed as another gust of wind from the south fanned the flames, "It's no use. It's just growing bigger."

Despite the fact that Varric was now cut off from the group, Merrill let out a shaky breath of relief when she saw a sooty form begin to move on the ground. But all too soon, her relief was dashed away when she saw another form seemingly emerge from the ash of the fallen tree.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

It didn't matter how many times he tried to outmaneuver the fire, he was hit with one wall after another despite how close he was to salvation. He could still make out his three companions and their attempts to try and get to him through the blazes, but they might as well as had a snowball's chance in…well, here. Out of habit, his hand went over his shoulder for that oh so familiar feeling of wood and metal. Surprisingly the fall hadn't knocked the weapon from his back.

He didn't have any time to think about it as he ducked underneath a smoldering tree limb and a deep growling baritone alerted him that he wasn't alone. As he looked up, he saw the largest Blight wolf he had ever seen. The thing easily stood as tall as a pony while half its side was a mess of burns and decaying flesh. The other side had been sliced and torn from the fallen tree. The thing disregarded its wounds as if they were nothing more than flea bites as it turned its eerily glowing, green eyes on him. Its cracked, jagged fangs were salivating as it snarled at him and slowly prowled closer.

"By the…Varric!" Falon's voice shouted over the din of the fire. "Varric run! It's their alpha!"

Some instinctual part of himself didn't need for the ranger to explain further. Varric made a dash to the creature's right, but the darkspawn lunged at him and took a swipe. It had enough force behind it that it could have easily taken his head. But in the last second, his crossbow was back in his hands. Bianca took the brunt of it and whined graciously as she staved off the attack. He silently thanked his precious weapon as he threw the creature off and placed two bolts into its chest. But like the Void stalker from before, he might as well as tossed a pine cone at it for all it did.

"Varric, get out of there!"

He didn't need the ranger to tell him twice. He could feel the leather on his back begin to cook. At the last second, as the wolf gathered itself to make another lung, for a brief moment he found his center and placed a bolt directly into the beasts left eye. It was all the time he needed, but as he tried to break away to get back to the others, the whine of a tree overhead quickly forced him back.

"This isn't good…"

He could no longer see them, he wasn't even sure he could hear them at this point. But with the fire steadily growing worse and his vision going with it, he retreated back into a strand of trees that didn't seem to be burning as quickly as the others. But all too soon he heard the snarling and growling behind him. Not bothering to look back, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

There was a loud growl followed shortly by a massive force tackling him from behind. Varric managed to roll with it and was able to dislodge himself from the darkspawn's jaws. And as he came around, Bianca's bayonet found the wolf's lower mandible. Snarling at the loss of half its jaw and most of its teeth, the darkspawn lunged forward just as he desperately backed away to try and get some distance for another shot. Varric tripped over a half-burnt root and rolled away only for the creature to slash a huge gash where he had been only moments ago. He didn't notice that they were on a hill, or how steep the embankment was here. He stumbled and slid several feet before catching himself on a sapling and righting himself just in time for the creature to swipe at him again. He threw Bianca up again only to have her knocked from his hands. With no time to think of retrieving her, Varric made a haphazard dodge away from the darkspawn's claws, but as he landed, that's when he felt the earth begin to shift under him.

He knew he was in trouble the moment the Blight wolf growled only a few feet away from him but at that time suddenly decide to reatreat. He didn't get a chance to scramble those few feet back to the top of the hill until it felt as if his feet were being pulled from beneath him. Dirt and hot ash flooded his senses. Before he could barely breathe, now he was suffocating. A few times he was swallowed up, but as he desperately clamored for the surface, the few gasps of polluted, ashen air were a godsend.

And then he was free. Thrown back into the encroaching inferno, but at least he wasn't buried alive. Only now, as he began to regain his bearings, he realized that there was something worse than going from the frying pan and into the fire…it was this.

He had fallen into some kind of clearing with a small fallen tree in the center of it. Unfortunately, none of its branches reached the side of the nearly ten foot ridge he had just fallen from and that seemed to encircle the entire clearing. Varric tried to scramble up the embankment, but the loose soil crumbled under his feet and hands. He jumped for a branch that was hanging overhead to attempt to pull himself up, and miraculously he was able to grab it only for it to snap under his weight. Coughing violently, he tried the other side of the glade, but every side was either too high for him to climb up or blocked by a wall of fire. Panting heavily, he collapsed at the foot of the embankment and watched the fire consume the trees around him. He couldn't even make out the sky now, the smoke was so thick. All he could hear was his own panting…the heat of the fire…and for a moment, he realized why his old friend didn't wish for him to take this expedition.

So far, he hadn't the greatest luck with them.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The smoke had been so thick, they were having trouble breathing. Several times they approached one side only to be pushed back. But miraculously, the wind suddenly shifted and instantly, the flames lost half their bravado.

"Here," he murmured to himself as he approached the leeward side of the stand of trees.

In this area, the line of fire was little more than knee high and not nearly as hot. Each passing moment, the flames became weaker and smaller. But as he eyed the blackened trees ahead of him, the vibrant glow assured him that the fire still hadn't lost its strength further in. Despite this, he was not deterred. He made to jump over until someone grabbed his shoulder and nearly threw him on the ground.

"What in the Four Winds do you think you're doing?"

He righted himself at the last second and then rounded on the ranger with a venomous air, "Get out of my way."

"Are you even thinking rationally right now?"

"I'm of sound mind," he spat

"Truly? Because you're about to run into a mildly-cooling furnace."

Of course, when she put it that way, there were a few slight flaws in his plan. But still, the idea of standing out here while the dwarf was trapped by the fire or worse being chased down by that rabid darkspawn left a foul taste in his mouth.

"Fine, have it your way," she murmured before turning to the mage. "Merrill, go stay in that covered stand over there and tend to your leg. The fire shouldn't reach you there. We'll be back soon."

The mage nodded her consent and limped over to the cover of trees to the south, and considering how helpful she had been in the past, Fenris wasn't distraught to see her leaving.

"I didn't ask for your help," he stated as the ranger tightened her sword belt.

"And how much help would you be to Varric if you found him and couldn't find your way back out?"

"Say what you will, but we've wasted enough time here. If we're going, we're going now."

And without another word, he leapt over the small flames and onto the soft, ashen ground. The ranger was deft to follow and stuck close to him as he led them into the trees. He wasn't sure what he was looking for at this point other than a flash of red or the dwarf's loud, boisterous voice. But as they came closer to the spot where they had last seen him, the ranger suddenly called out.

"Wait." The ranger brushed aside a smoldering limb and pile of ash. Instantly he recognized the red stock and bronze metal engravings. "It's Bianca," the ranger murmured as she pulled the crossbow free and began to study the ground. "There was a struggle, but he got away."

Fenris searched the trees, but the blackened skeletons caused the already dark shadows to play tricks on his eyes while the smoldering embers in-between the wood burned like multitudes of taunting, tiny red eyes. However, even he couldn't miss the path the cumbersome darkspawn had left.

Without waiting for the ranger, he ducked down the trail, "This way."

He dashed over the burnt ground while the ash smothered his steps. It felt like a kiln and he could feel the heat on his feet despite the thick leather boots. He could almost see the trail as easily as the paths and streets back in Kirkwall, but just when he began to gain a glimmer of hope, the path widened abruptly until coming to what looked like a dead end. There was a wide, circular clearing, as if the burnt remains of the plants and wood had been pushed aside. The ground was soft here and noticeably churned and scarred as if something with claws had been tearing at it.

The ranger was suddenly by his side and taking in the scene as one would a book before kneeling down and picking up a handful of dirt.

"There was another struggle. The Blight wolf went this way," she replied as nodded towards the cracked branches and limbs to there right.

"And the dwarf?"

"Give me a moment."

"We don't have a moment!" he snapped vehemently, but the woman merely fixed him with a hard stare that quelled his insistence. Grudgingly, he bit his tongue and stepped aside. Once she had his leave, she crouched down as she methodically picked through the clearing. "What are you doing?"

"Searching…"

"For what?"

"To see if Varric left this place on his own or if the Blight wolf carried him off."

"And?"

"There is burnt blood from the Blight wolf, but I can't find any of Varric's."

"Isn't that good?"

"Not if the fire burned it beyond my recognition. Tainted blood tends to have a higher tolerance to heat."

Another surge of guilt rose up in his chest, enough so he felt like he was going to be sick. He knew something was wrong with the dwarf before they ran from Halamshiral. But instead, he pushed them to run and now look what happened. Cursing he struck out at the nearest tree and split a charred sapling in half.

"Fenris stop." He ignored her and continued to fume. All he could hear was his own venomous words berating the dwarf knowing full well that the merchant had lost someone back in the city after that incident with the mage. Damn him! "Fenris don't move!"

Instincts kicked in and he immediately searched for something else to spring out of the underbrush, but the ranger only seized him by the wrist and pulled his hand close. He tried to snatch it back, but she held him still as she stared intently at something on his gauntlet.

"What are-" Using her fingertips she pulled off a few strands of fine red hair that had gotten tangled into the folds of metal along with the bits of charred wood. His eyes narrowed on it and then turned back to the burnt tree he had destroyed. "Is that Varric's?"

"Yes," she replied as she studied the tree and then at another close by that had fallen over. "He ran past here. But you see the larger trees around us? They've been uprooted. Recently. And not by the fire." She shifted through the soft, ashy dirt and looked up again, "There was a landslide here. Varric must have gotten swept up."

"Then…"

Falon shook her head as she went to another tree, "No, look here, and over there. He was taken with it," she stated as she stood over one spot of tumbled earth that was somewhat flattened, "further into the woods… There's a chance he's still alive."

"Can you track him from here?"

"It's difficult," she replied as she threw the dwarf's crossbow onto her back, "but you don't have a person more suited to this task than the one standing before you."

"I hope so," he murmured as he fell in behind her.

But as she picked her way through the trees and he did his best to mirror her steps, he heard her softly say, "You care for him."

He lightly scoffed under his breath as he kept his eyes peeled on the smoldering woods around them, "Stop reading into things you don't understand."

"Your right, we're just picking through a simmering forest on a whim."

"I owe the dwarf a dept. That is all."

"Varric seems like a good friend to have at your back." She crotched down to the ground again and studied a flatten space of soil before gazing at the blackened trees. "We'll find him, Fenris."

"Yes, but will we find him alive?"

At that, the ranger glanced over her shoulder at him, "If he's anything like you, then I have no doubt."

He was about to make a neutral reply to the ranger when he heard a gurgling growl on his left. The next moment, a huge, black mass leapt onto them.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

His first memories had been of the streets. For all he knew, he was born on the streets, though his brother always hated it when he had put it like that. Why? Because they were from a distinguished merchant clan…at least, that was what he had always been told. He never liked the old, dark tunnels, or the cold, hard stone that his father and brother use to tell him about with such revelry. He enjoyed warmth, and drink, and friends. He liked the life they had, even before he became the merchant prince of Kirkwall, but his mother and brother never did. Perhaps that's why he was so adamant about Blind-eye taking him under his wing when he was younger.

Sure, his brother was cunning and scrupulous when it came to being a merchant, but Blind-eye had known how to handle people. After his father had passed away, no more than a few years after he was born, even then he remembered things had been tough for a while. That's where Blind-eye had come in. 'An old friend of the family,' was what his mother had once told him, but beyond that, the rest Varric had learned for himself. The half-human, half-dwarf was somewhat of a mystery to him for the first few years, but whatever the jumpy man saw in the young dwarf, it was enough to catch his one good eye.

That's what he liked about Blind-eye. He wasn't much to look at, didn't seem like any kind of threat, but he had connections. He knew things. Knew how to handle the information, despite not being the most articulate person in the room. He hadn't always been that skittish. He had actually been quite amicable to the point that most didn't notice the eye. It wasn't until he had a bad run in with Carter some years back and had gone missing for almost a year that the other things emerged. He never spoke about it, and Varric finally stopped asking, but despite the withdrawn shell his old friend had turned into, he was still cunning, still keeping his ear to the ground, and was still eager to help him.

The old bastard had taught him everything he knew now, and refined everything he knew before.

'_You have to watch people, Varric. People say more with their eyes and their bodies than they do with their words. And while words can be as sharp and deadly as any dagger, charm and a smile can be more effective in saving your hide.'_

He smiled as he remembered the old coot's words before the Carter had garbled his speech and made him jumpy at even his own shadow.

'_Cunning isn't something you are born with. You cultivate it, practice it. Anyone can come up with a quip, but it takes a skilled wordsmith to know just how profound his words can be and how useful information can be.' _

There was a reason Blind-eye had lasted as long as he did and also a reason why Varric was able to get as far as he had in Kirkwall. He almost wished he hadn't asked him to go searching for the map. Wondered what would have happened if he had just relinquished his hold on Kirkwall…drifted off into the winds like the others had.

"This isn't quite how I imagined you would go out, Varric."

Varric opened his soot-crusted eyes and spotted the main character of all his reminiscings standing before him. Blind-eye had on a light gray tunic with matching pants and a pristine white vest that was the same color as his eye. He was smiling down at him and casually observing their burning, chard surroundings as one would a well decorated room.

Too tired and weary to argue against what he was seeing, he merely chuckled and nodded his head towards the old man, "Yeah, well I'm in the same boat with you, Burslin. Of course, I didn't quite see you going out the way you did either." The half-dwarf chuckled and pulled out a pipe as he sat down next to him. "You seem well," Varric mused.

"There isn't much to be scared of where I am now," he replied with a hint of solemnness. "But despite that, you're not one to give up, Varric. Never had," he added as he nodded to the clearing. "Having your friend run out on you, losing Kirkwall, losing me, things could be worse."

"I'm about to get burned alive, you forgot that part, Burslin."

The old man smiled, "That's not a guarantee."

"Well, don't be offended if I don't quite take that to heart, what with you being a ghost or…whatever. I think this smoke is getting to me."

His old friend nodded at that, "You're running out of air. You're going to start to hallucinate soon."

"I'm not already? That's unfortunate."

Blind-eye smiled at him again and chuckled as he took a seat next to him on the ground, "We all have paths in this world, Varric. Some are set for us, others we make ourselves either on a whim or in need. You've set your path, Varric. It's a noble course if not dire, but one that should not be thrown away carelessly."

"You should know, you warned me from coming here."

"I warned you because I thought I was sending you to your death…but I know now I was wrong. Your companions…together you are far stronger than you perceive yourselves to be."

"The whole point is moot now, isn't it old friend?"

Blind-eye rose from his seat and stared soulfully towards the south, "It slumbers, Varric. It is beginning to stir, but it is not fully awakened yet. There is still time to set things right."

"Now you're not making any sense again."

"You will be given an opportunity to right a horrendous wrong, Varric. Even now it has has all been set into motion. All that remains to be seen are the choices you make now, the choices you make in the future, as well as the choices made by those that accompany you."

"The choices I make now?" Varric coughed. "I fail to see my choice now."

At that, the old man kneeled in front of him and for a moment, all Varric could do was stare into pure white eye. He felt as if he stared long enough, he could almost see just what laid beyond the Veil.

"That one is simple, my friend: do you wish to die or do you wish to live?"

Varric couldn't help himself and merely smirked, "It's like you've always said, Burslin, when have I ever given up that easily?"

The old man chuckled again as he smiled down at him, "Only when it involved a pretty face or a free drink."

"You've always known me well."

"That I have, Varric. That I have."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

When he opened his eyes, they burned and watered, but there was no one there. It had been a dream…at least that's what he told himself. Only…he had never dreamed before. But even in those brief, delirious moments, he felt the drive in him again. Varric hacked and coughed, but forced his legs to hold him. Again he searched for a way out. There had to be one, he just couldn't see it. He wasn't looking in the right places. But as the trees around him threatened to engulf everything in a firey blaze, he heard something that almost seemed foreign here.

Something was…crying. Like that of a dog.

He turned to the fallen tree in the clearing and peered through the smoke as he slowly approached it. But when he finally discerned what it was he was looking at, he hastily backed away.

Clearly, if he got out of here alive, he was going to have to ask the ranger what the wolves of this forest ate. This one was only slightly larger than a mabari, but longer while being a few sizes smaller than the Blight wolf that had chased him down here. Its muzzle was narrow like a normal wolf, and as it growled at him, he could see the rows of teeth and its large canines. Varric slowly continued to back away, but soon realized that he didn't have to. The tree here had fallen over after the fire had eaten out its base. Somehow, the wolf must have gotten caught underneath it when it fell. Even now, Varric could see one of its back legs was pinned underneath the wood and kept it from going anywhere. The wolf turned its attention from him to its trapped leg and began gnawing on the branches around it, all the while the smoke was getting thicker and the air hotter. Varric quickly turned and tried to find another way out before he too got himself trapped.

'_Varric…don't be blinded by your fear.'_

The dwarf ignored the nagging voice in the back of his head. He floundered through the thick smoke and could hear the snap and cry of trees splintering under the heat, but despite all of that, he could now hear the wolf growling and struggling to free itself.

'_Seek out the shrine with those who have forgotten the way.'_

Varric scoffed. Just because they were looking for a tomb of some mythical, spooky wolf-god, didn't mean he was going to shovel out a helping hand to any wolf he ran across. That was a good way to lose a hand. Besides, from the way that thing acted, it had as much love for him as its Blight cousins. Amidst the growling and the fire, a low mournful howl came from behind him. It continued for a few seconds before ending in a series of panicked whines.

'_Swear you will protect it.'_

Varric glanced over his shoulder. The wolf was still tearing at the wood and was catching its own flesh in the process. If it kept it up much longer, it might actually free itself before the fire got it, but lose its foot in doing so. Varric cursed at himself and quickly returned to the fallen tree and wolf. It growled at him again, but this time there didn't seem to be as much confidence behind it. Varric reached down towards the wolf and nearly got a few fingers taken away because of it.

"Damn it, I'm just trying to help, you mangy mutt." As soon as he snapped at the wolf, it laid it ears back and almost seemed to recoil, but at the same time it never took its yellow eyes off him. "Now just…stay."

He could practically feel the flames licking at the back of his neck, but he foolishly remained. He reached around and pulled out a dagger. Again the large wolf recoiled, this time from the sound of scrapping metal, but Varric didn't have time to worry about it now. He then began hacking at the large branch pinning the wolf. As smoldering woodchips began to fly, he swore his leather coat was beginning to sear.

"Just a little more he grunted," as larger chunks began to splinter off. The wolf let out a loud growl just as the tree whined. Finally, with a combined effort of one final thrust and the wolf lurching forward, the branch gave way and the creature was freed. However, Varric didn't have long to celebrate his accomplishments. The furnace that had once been the canopy of trees overhead was now giving way. The dwarf quickly tried to scramble for cover, but the thunderous sound of embers and smoldering wood didn't grant him much confidence that he would make it out of this one.

But just as he was about to resign to his fate, something snatched him from behind his coat and half-dragged, half-threw him though a partially smoldering thicket and into what looked like a dried out stream bed that he hadn't noticed before. He tumbled down at least five or six feet into the slightly muddy bottom and gratefully took in a few lungfuls of semi-smokeless air.

As Varric struggled to get a coughing fit under control, he tried not to think of those teeth he had felt on his back or how the wolf had so easily picked him up and flung him like a rag doll. Even now, he could hear the wolf only a few feet away struggling with its own coughing fit as it tried to clear its lungs. When he recovered, he took a moment to get a look at his resucee-turned-rescuer

It was difficult to discern the creature at the moment. It's fur was stained black and scorched from the fire, and its eyes watery from the smoke. It regarded him with a tentative look and seemed weary of him even after just saving his life.

"Now if only you were white, had two legs instead of four, and growled only a little bit more, I would say you were his younger brother," Varric coughed as he smirked at the wolf. He didn't know what provoked the idea, but Varric slowly began to reach out towards the creature. Instantly the wolf began to tense up and didn't take his eyes off of Varric or his hand. "Yep. The similarities are definitely not lost on me," he mused as he put his hand back down.

With that, the huge wolf began to slowly back away until finally turning and running down the streambed and out of sight. It was then that a sudden wave of fatigue washed over him. Even as the mud seeped into his coat, the coolness of it was refreshing to the oven he had just found himself in. As his eyes closed, he could almost feel it on his face. Like soothing cool, droplets…

And as he drifted off, the skies overhead broke open.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"Not a word."

"I didn't say anything."

Varric grudgingly pulled himself free of his sleep. He was literally lying down in a bed of mud, but it had been the most restful sleep he had ever had. But when he thought he heard a couple of oh-too-familiar voices floating down the now ankle deep stream, he forced himself up.

"If you had held onto you arrows, we could have avoided this."

Yep, he could discern that drawling voice anywhere. Even now he could picture that blank, scrutinizing look on his face anytime he was in a mood to rile Blondie.

"I wasn't the one who suggested you rip that thing's heart out. We could have used our swords just as easily."

And sure enough, there was their newest member to their merry little band. And from the sounds of it, they duo had put themselves to the ultimate test and had come after him. He had to give them their due for lasting this long and not tearing at each other at this point.

"Then why didn't you when it had me pinned?"

"It dragged you over thirty feet, I was still trying to catch my breath when I reached you."

"You had to catch your breath because you were laughing!" came the elf's fiery retort.

"I was not. I was coughing."

"You were doubled over chortling as that thing tried to maul me!"

He heard a scoffing laugh as if the ranger were trying not to start laughing again, "How exactly was it going to do that with no teeth? It jaws were mangled before it jumped us and you knocked out everything else when you punched it."

"That still didn't prevent it from grabbing me and dragging me off."

"You know what else it didn't prevent? You're yelp when it grabbed you around the leg with its gums."

"Don't deter from the fact that you were less than useless back there."

"Fine, I'll concede to that as long as you admit that the reason you smell like darkspawn waste is because you were overzealous."

"Hold onto your weapons next time."

"Right, next time I'll let the corrupted animals gnaw on your legs while I make sure everything's secure. Besides, when am I the designated archer of this group? I thought that was Varric's forte?"

Right, perhaps now would be a good time to make an appearance.

"You're a ranger. I thought the weapon and its requirements were an implied part of your arsenal."

"Well if we're just going to follow simply stereotypes, then who's ever heard of an elf that doesn't carry a bow or doesn't even know how to use one?"

"Probably along the same lines as a ranger that has no concept of tracking."

He heard the slosh of mud and dirt. At this point he discerned they must have made it to the clearing he had been trapped in earlier.

"The forest was burned and it just rained! I may make this look easy, but trust me it isn't. Ugh, you see, you're just _trying_ to be an ass at this point."

"I at least I make an effort, you can't help but be incompetent right now."

"I see you and broody have still been getting along well," Varric he huffed as he was finally able to get his head over the side of the bank.

"Varric?"

Two forms were suddenly grabbing him by his arms and hoisting him up the side. Never before had he felt this relieved to see the sour elf. He even thought Fenris was about to hug him at one point, but the warrior pulled away at the last minute. Instead, he handed him his water skin before giving him a curt nod. Varric took both with a relieved smile. At this point, water had never tasted so good and once again he felt the sudden urge to go back to sleep in the mud.

"Here, you dropped someone, Varric," the ranger replied as she handed him his beautiful Bianca, somewhat dingy and muddy, but nothing a night of tender cleaning wouldn't solve.

"Daisy?" he asked.

"She was a little rattled and bruised and her leg was burned when we fell out of the trees," the ranger replied. "It wasn't bad, but I thought it better for her to take care of it."

He was relieved to hear that, but had the urge to get back to the now unaccompanied mage.

"I have to say," he coughed after he took another draft of water, "you two look like you've been to the Void and back."

"Then you can imagine what you look like, dwarf," the warrior replied, but there was a ghost of a smirk there. Varric made to laugh, but only started coughing again.

The ranger instantly took a knee beside him and started rummaging through her pack. She had several jars and pouches laid out and started poking him and prodding him in a fashion that was reminiscent of Daisy. She took the waterskin from him and handed him her own pouch after he watched her pour several different powders in it. He sipped it and nearly spat it out.

"You need to finish it," Falon stated as she tended to several burns on his arm.

"Easy for you to say."

"Just how did you survive, dwarf?" the elf asked as he stared at the blackened remains of the clearing. The only thing in the place that had any semblance of color now was the darkening sky overhead that was awashed in different shades of reds, purples, and blues.

"You little brother gave me a helping hand."

Both of them stopped and turned to give him equally ponderous looks, "Come again?" The elf then rounded on the ranger, "What did you give him?"

Falon snatched the bottle back as she smelled the contents, "Nothing that causes dementia."

Varric chuckled again and shook his head, "It was a wolf. I, uh, helped it from under this tree. I suppose it was magnanimous enough to return the favor and threw me into the river bed."

"A blight wolf saved you?" the elf asked.

"No, this one wasn't corrupted, at least I don't think it was."

At that, the ranger abruptly stood up and began putting away her jars, "I'm done. But we should start heading back. It will be hard enough through here without trying to make our way in the pitch dark."

"Do you have any rope?" the elf suddenly asked. The ranger checked her pack and nodded. "Here, take mine as well and go secure a line to one of the trees at the top of the slope so we can get him out of here."

To Varric's surprise, the woman took the rope and headed over to the steep incline without a word or complaint. In the dwindling light, they watched her begin to climb as they waited.

"Dwarf…Varric, I…"

Varric turned his attentions back to the warrior. The elf had that restless, twitchy look about him, the same one he got whenever he was having trouble voicing something…or whenever he was about to plunge his hand into someone's chest. But considering how they weren't in the midst of another fight and they weren't about to interrogate some ill begotten slaver, he was betting on the former.

"In Halamshiral…I did not realize he was your friend."

Varric felt a bitterness well up in him from the memory, but for the first time it didn't seem as debilitating, "Blind-eye…he, uh, he was a good man. A good friend. Sometimes in this line of work…we're just caught unprepared."

"It was after the darkspawn attacked that I realized I had erred. I should not have forced a standoff like that. And then when I realized what had happened, I did not think…"

"Come on, elf. You know me better than that. The Deeproads couldn't get the better of me; did you really think a little forest fire and rabid Darkspawn were?"

"For a moment I had to wonder."

"Well, now I'm just offended."

There was little amusement in the elf's features, but there was something. He was seeing it more and more ever since the broody elf first woke up in his abode in the Hanged Man. And it was something he was glade he was seeing more of.

Just then, he spotted the ranger coming down the steep embankment. This time she was jumping from one spot to another. How she was able to discern which parts were going to hold her and how she did it so quickly, he didn't know. She nimbly hit the ground and made her way back over to them while caring the tail end of the rope.

"I've got everything secure up there. If you tie this end to him, I can help pull him up from the top."

"No, I'll do it. I'll be able to pull both of you up if you should slip."

Again, to the dwarf's surprise, the ranger just nodded her consent and stepped back, "Make sure you have solid footing this time. And don't trust anything to hold your weight as you grab branches." The moment she said that, there was a sharp snap of a branch and the elf slid down a few feet before catching himself and resuming the climb as if nothing had happened.

"Told you," the ranger murmured under her breath as she brought him the rope and proceeded to tie a harness around his torso. "You know, I'm also glad we're not bringing a bag of chard ash out of these woods."

"Have I ever told you how charming you can be?"

The ranger smirked and secured the rope under his arms, "He's was worried, if you haven't discerned that by now. Merrill too."

"Well I would be just heartbroken if Daisy didn't bat an eyelash to my absence, but the elf…well what can I say, he does tend to let people grow on him, as much as it's hard to believe."

The ranger continued to smirk as she worked in silence. As she did, he remembered Blind-eye and his so-called hallucination. He could still recall it clear as if he had spoken with the old man during a regular conversation. He also remembered the day they were run out of Kirkwall and the ranger's not so enthusiastic feelings towards their venture.

"Falon. Now that you and I have a moment, there's something I wanted to say."

"What is it, Varric?"

"So, don't take this the wrong way, but I know your kind." At that, the ranger stilled as she finished tying the knot and gave him a perplexed, slightly panicked looked. "You think you know what's best, even if others say otherwise. You weren't keen on this whole adventure in the first place, and well…I know how you are with Daisy, even the elf. You'll make sure we'll survive this fool's errand, even if it means sabotaging it. Stop me if I'm wrong."

To her credit, the ranger didn't seem the least bit contrite when she stared him in the eye yet was utterly silent.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Varric."

"I know Blind-eye died for it. I know they're risking everything for it as well. And frankly, what do you think you will accomplish by trying to fight us every step of the way?"

"It seems I'm merely fighting the inevitable."

"I just…I just don't want his death to be for nothing. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" At that, the ranger bowed her head and slowly nodded. "That's why I want you to swear to get us there."

"You want my word? How valuable do you really think that is, Varric?"

"Valuable enough. You aren't the kind to break it, not easily at least."

"Even if I manage this, what makes you think there will even be something for you there?"

"Blind-eye thought there was. I owe it to him to at least do this."

For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse him, but ever so slowly she extended her hand while still holding his gaze.

"If it means this much to you, then yes: you have my word, Varric."

With a smirk, he reached out and took her hand, "Good, now what's for dinner, I'm starving?"

"Why are you asking me?" she replied as the rope became taunt and the dwarf began to make his climb up the steep embankment.

"Because, we're low on supplies and being the hunter I know you to be, surely you know it prudent to take advantage of our surrounding resources."

For a second, he thought he heard the ranger curse softly. She then abruptly turned and began heading towards another copse of trees.

"Where are you going now?"

"I'll catch up with the both of you at Merrill's camp. I have to go find my arrows…"


	15. And Those Who Are Found

Bioware owns the spark, I just ran with it.

* * *

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.

~George Carlin

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

His eyelids felt as if they weighed down with rocks and the effort to just open them seemed like a grueling chore. But when he was able to, he was rewarded with what felt like a dagger to the back of his head.

Regaining what he could of his bearings, Anders managed to focus on the high ceiling of the room he was in, despite the dim light coming from his windows. The molding looked dirty, as if it hadn't been dusted in years. When he was finally able to sit up he saw that he was in a fairly decent sized room. Though it was hard to discern most of its detail due to the random objects and multitudes of books and scrolls lying about, he could at least make out a wardrobe, a chest at the foot of the four-posted bed he was lying in, as well as what looked like a writing desk overflowing with rolls of parchment.

He made to swing his legs over the side of the bed only to hiss in pain as the abrupt movement jarred his head and cause a sharp, hot spike of pain to flare up in his forehead. He could taste the bile in the back of his throat as his head swam sickeningly. Luckily, he was able to fight both the nausea and headache back down to a tolerable degree when he heard a solid thump coming from behind the door.

He peeked around the frame of the bed and watched as the dark oak door was flung open and a figure half-stumble, half-jump over the various books as he entered the room.

"Blast and confound it all! I should just burn the whole lot and be done with it!" The lanky mage stumbled over another pile of books only to catch himself and continue on. He looked ancient, though he sprang about the room and around stacks of random books with the dexterity of a dancer…or at least someone who was well familiar with his junk. His dark green robes were covered in random stains and what looked like dirt. His fingertips and nails were stained black with ink as were most of his forearms since he wore his sleeved rolled up all the way to his elbows. "No, no, I can't do that. Ortallian's Proposal for the Expansion of Intangible Matter should be here. Or did I leave it in the west corridor? No, I remember clearly bringing it up here last spring along with the mummified rabbit ears. Blast it all…I would forget my beard if I had one."

"Um, excuse me."

"Of course, I could have lent it to Bartholomew. He was looking for a reference, but that doesn't make sense, does it? The blighter died last spring. Wait…is it winter or fall now? Confound it all!"

"Hello!" At that, the mage spun around and seemed utterly surprised to see him lying there. "Who are you? And to add to that, where am I?"

"Who am I?" he replied. "I could ask the same for you son," he stated as he tugged at his rolled up sleeves. But just as quickly, the old man's demurely turned from quizzical to amused as he began chuckling, "Oh, but that's right, Feynriel said he put you up here. In all honesty I completely forgot."

Anders was able to hear what the mage was saying, only he couldn't _understand _it. Things were moving too fast. He could almost feel the words rumbling around in his head uselessly. For all intents and purposes, the mage could be speaking in Arcanum and he probably wouldn't know the difference. Still, it was overwhelming and at the moment, he didn't know how much more he could take.

"There's no need to be afraid of me, young man," the elder mage replied in a softer, calmer tone. "I'm as harmless as these books around you, and probably just as old."

The other mage must have picked up on his apprehension, and while he appreciated the gesture, it only felt patronizing in his already vulnerable state.

"It's not that, it's just…I've been having problems with my memory lately and I…I think I supposed to be with someone…I'm just having trouble remembering."

"Hmm. Feynriel did mention something about that. Here, let me take a look at you."

The old mage pulled a chair closer and abruptly knocked over the tower of books that had been occupying it. As he sat down, he produced a set of silver spectacles with lenses that were perfectly round. When he put them on, they nearly doubled his brown eyes. Before Anders could even inquire his name, the older mage was grabbing his chin and twisting his head this way and that.

"How are you feeling?"

"Confused," Anders replied.

The mage nodded as he continued to prod him, "Any strange feelings."

"Everything's strange at the moment. I have no idea what's going on."

"Does your left foot feel tingly?"

"My foot?"

"When was the last time you bathed?"

"A few days I think…"

"What is your favorite food?"

"What does that have to do-"

"Do you have an unnatural desire to consume copious amounts of a certain type of fruit?"

"What?"

The old mage didn't answer him, but merely nodded his head as he scratched his beardless chin, "It seems they were right. Wait here a moment, I will return shortly."

"But-"

The mage had already turned his back on him and was through the door, muttering something about plants and ratios. Anders was left there feeling a tremendous weight in his chest while a nagging voice in the back of his mind was debating with him if he should take this opportunity and leave or take his chances and wait.

He felt antsy and overly warm. The sheets felt itchy against his skin despite their decent quality. The healer felt as if he should be looking for something at this point, but couldn't remember even that. All this was causing him to become even more agitated until he felt the beginnings of a headache coming on again, only…this one felt as if it were in the back of his head and inside it.

Thankfully, his attention was turned away from his maddening condition to the other mage again. This time, he was carrying a small jar that appeared to be smoking. Wispy trails followed behind him, but as the subtle scent permeated the room, Anders felt an unexplainable calm begin to take hold.

It began in his fingers and toes and gradually worked its way up his limbs. Soon, even the steady thrum in the back of his head was stilled.

"…of course, the funny thing about the entire hypothesis is that it is solely based on the moons lunar cycles. Going back that logic, you can only assume that it would grow during certain photo periods. And that just doesn't make sense regarding its growth season."

Anders drunkenly blinked up at him. He hadn't even realized the other mage had been speaking.

"I…what?"

"Ah, it seems to be working faster than I anticipated. Which perhaps is fortunate."

Anders glanced over at the side table and realized that the jar had been placed directly next to him, "What…is that?"

"This?" the mage asked. "Well it's a deviation from an old Dalish potion called _enhil_. It soothes chaotic sprits as well as the body so that one may think more clearly. I use it all the time, though Feynriel insists it has the opposite effect. What do you think?"

"I…I actually think it's working. My thought don't feel so clouded as before."

"Excellent," the mage exclaimed. "I had Feynriel take care of this year's crop. Did quite a decent job of it too. Couldn't have done it better myself, and I've been studying the herb for over fifty years now."

"Feynriel? He…he was that mage, the one with the ability to walk in other's dreams. We…rescued him from the demons and then…the Circle those few years back. And then he ran away to…."

"Decent boy, that one," the mage mused as he began examining the dried leaves. "Excellent work ethic, good sense, and makes the most delicious pot of herbal tea that I've had in decades. If there were more like him I might have taken on an apprentice long ago."

"Feynriel's…your apprentice?" he asked vaguely as the pieces began to fall into place. "Then that means…are you a magister?"

The mage brushed off his hands and smiled at him as he replied brightly, "Why, yes, I am."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

She stood at the doorway to the small balcony overlooking a surprisingly well-manicured garden. Nearly three days had passed since she arrived at the magister's estate, and she had rarely stepped outside her room. The chamber Anders resided in was next to hers and conveniently connected with a door. This was both a blessing and a curse as she felt more secure in knowing where the healer was and could be by his side at a moment's notice, yet it wasn't a day later that Feynriel had to explicitly instruct her to leave Anders's room as to give him time to heal.

Hawke grudgingly had to agree with the apprentice and made do by lingering in her own apartment while keeping a watchful ear on Anders. But despite the soft snoring coming from his room, and calm that had come over him for the past few days, she felt completely on edge and had yet been able to get a restful night's sleep ever since entering this city.

Even in the dead of night, the blistering heat was stifling. The thin, linen robes that Feynriel had given her felt like nothing, but at least they were more tolerable to wear than the ones she had been wearing before the slavers abducted her. Still, she wasn't use to weather here, and stepped out onto the balcony to feel the refreshing wind that blew from the north.

As she stood there, she was still having trouble fully realizing where she was now. The magister Euthymius was…not what she had been expecting when the horse brought them to his doorstep. Most of what he said seemed like babble, and for the most part, the man seemed utterly harmless. In fact, she wasn't sure he was even a mage until he lit the lamps in the foyer with just a flick of his wrist. Yet Feynriel had been adamant about the man, and stayed by Anders and her side the entire first night up until the morning. He only left when she felt somewhat eased with their new surroundings.

The first thing she noticed was the current state of the magister's house. It was large but not overly so. The estate's grounds were expansive, with an oversized garden surrounding the backend and what looked like a small forest stretching even further back. From her balcony, she had a perfect view of it. Unlike the rest of the house, the garden was immaculately kept with a variety of flowers that seemed to rival the Vicount's garden. But even more impressive was the large hedge maze that twisted and wrapped around grounds.

The house itself was perhaps four times the size of her home back in Kirkwall, with three floors as well as a basement. Yet despite the overall size of it, she had yet to see one slave or servant. The only one that ever brought her food was Feynriel and the few times she did venture around this floor, it was clear that the halls had not been swept recently. Some rooms were taken over by multitudes of books and scrolls that were covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. Again, it was something she was not expecting when entering a magister's home, but decided to put it in the back of her mind for later.

Just then, the door to her room opened and in walked the apprentice carrying a tray of what looked like some kind of stew along with bread and a type of fruit she was unfamiliar with. Feynriel gave her a reassuring smile as he set the tray down and joined her over by the balcony.

"It's a balmy night tonight," he replied conversely as he pulled at the collar of his linen robes. "Despite how wet some of the season were in Kirkwall, I do miss snow. It was the one thing I always looked forward to in winter. That and waiting for everything to turn green again."

She never liked the cold. She could hardly stand the winters back in Lothering, but Bethany and Carver had loved the snow. When they were younger, it would take all matter of threats and bargaining to get them inside, and even then…

Hawke sighed as she leaned her head back. She hated remembering. She hated that she couldn't stop herself from remembering. It was just that everything seemed to trigger something she so desperately wanted to forget.

Feynriel must have sensed that something was off and deftly replied, "You shouldn't worry so much, Hawke. I've handled Apate's group before, and they still haven't discerned who I am. We're safe. I promise you."

"Forgive me if I don't affiliate 'safe' and Minrathous in the same sentence. We weren't here for more than a few days and were thrown into cells and nearly handed over to the highest bidder."

"You're right, and if you were within the city, then you wouldn't be too far off in that assumption. But we're safe here, and while Lord Euthymius can be a little…unorthodox, he's a decent man and mage."

"I was wondering who it was that took you under their wing when you came here."

"So my letter did reach you those few years ago. I haven't been in touch with my mother and never heard word back from you, so I just assumed..."

"Things got a little out of hand in the past few years in Kirkwall. I really never had the time to sit down and riffle through a list of my old correspondences to check up on them, while the Knight Commander was intent on purging or imprisoning every last mage in the city."

"Clearly. Nearly all of Thedas is in an uproar with this 'Mage Rebellion.' You wouldn't believe the amount of refugees that have flooded all of Minrathos, not to mention the Imperium. There was barely enough food and room to harbor who was already here to begin with. Now…it's just getting worse. All of its getting out of hand. I can understand your reasons for fleeing, but why would you even consider coming here? Where things that bad?"

"We didn't come here for protection from the Circle," Hawke replied.

"Then why did you come here?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," she replied solemnly. "I brought Anders because I thought he would be safest with me. But I think this whole venture has only harmed him more than anything else."

"I still don't understand, what could have possibly motivated you to come all this way and then ju-"

"I said it doesn't matter!" she shouted and was nearly overwhelmed by the surge of guilt and memories. She turned her back on the other mage and leaned against the railing as a tremendous weight seemed to settle on her shoulders all over again. In a near whisper, she said again, "It doesn't matter…"

"Hawke…"

"What matters now, is Anders. I'm losing him but somehow there are times when he's still here. I know I'm in your debt after all that you did for us with Apate, but I…I need your help, Feynriel."

"I don't know what you believe, Hawke, but I'm just an apprentice here and even with all that I've learned over the years, I don't have the best idea on how to help him. And even if you were to find another mage, the hard truth of it is that Andres is a target. He's mage possessed by a spirit. Any overzealous magister, or a mage looking to gain a position as one, wouldn't turn down an opportunity to exploit him."

"How would they benefit from Anders?"

"Well, for one with that spirit he's granted special traits and abilities. Even I remember the power he gave off while you all helped me in the Fade. If the wrong people found this out-"

"Such as slavers like Apate."

"Then Anders could be in serious danger if word began to spread. At least here you're away from the direct scrutiny of the majority of magisters and other mages."

"You seem very sure about this place."

"It's safe here, Hawke, or at least as safe as anyplace else around here. I promise you."

The dreamer didn't seem to have changed much over the years. He matured a little and was now a couple inches taller than herself, yet he still possessed a youthfulness about him that reminded her of that lost, scared boy back in Kirkwall. Only now, he didn't seem quite so lost anymore.

"We'll do what we can, Hawke," he continued. "Lord Euthymius's research is…extensive. There are certain things that most mages here don't bother in studying, but it may be of some use to Anders. For now, I don't think he will object with the two of you staying here. Actually, he might…forget, just remind him if you run across him and he seems confused."

"Is he ill?"

"No, it's just he's very focused on his work and tends to forget other minor details. You get used to it after a while." With that, the apprentice gave her one last look before nodding his head, "Get some rest, Hawke. If you need something, um, feel free to seek it out if you can't find me. We…don't really have many hands around here."

With that, the young mage began to leave, and despite everything, his words did instill some sense of calm in her.

"Feynriel…"

He stopped and turned back to her, "Yes?"

"…thank you."

The young mage nodded as he slipped through the door, "Sleep well, Hawke."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

To the elf's disgruntlement, they decided to spend the night in the stand where the ranger had sent the mage. Apparently it was too dangerous to venture further into the woods tonight due to the recent Blight wolf attack as well as any scouts that the Chevaliers might send out for them. But by a vote of three to one, their tired band had unpacked their bedrolls and surrounded the little fire for the night. But even he had to admit, once his back leaned against the tree, the sharp edges of his ire seemed to dull.

Luckily, the rain had brought back to life a nearby stream. Not only were they able to access to fresh water for once, but they were given the small reprieve to wash the ash and filth from their recent jaunt through the burning forest.

By the time he and the dwarf had returned from a very frigid wash in the stream, the ranger was just stepping into the firelight.

"Oh, good," the mage stated as the ranger set down two freshly cleaned rabbits. "Now that you're back, do you want to come with me to bathe?"

It was interesting what unfolded next. The mage's question, while simple as it was, caused the ranger to react in the strangest of ways. She looked shocked and for a brief moment, somewhat panicked.

"I…I don't need to bathe," she muttered.

At that he scoffed. Her face was smeared in ash and now mud thanks to the rain. She was still covered in filth from their fight with the darkspawn as well as the skirmish in Halamshiral. And after the rabbits, her hands and clothes were now stained in blood. Of all of them, she looked to be the one in most need of a bath. Perhaps even three.

"Do you not have a spare set of clothes, Falon? I have an extra set of robes if you need something to wear or if you're worried about your clothes drying."

"I'm fine, Merrill."

"Do you really intend to spend the whole night like that?"

"What the mage is trying to say is that I can smell you from here," he shot back as he preoccupied himself by sharpening his sword.

"Dually noted and thank you for taking such an interest in my personal hygiene, Fenris."

"He has a point, Falon. I think you have…bits of flesh…in your hair."

The ranger didn't miss the opportunity to give him a pointed glare, as if he was at fault for her current stake of uncleanliness and stench. She muttered something under her breath he didn't catch before her and the mage ventured down to the stream.

Once gone, the dwarf turned to him with a quizzical expression, "Did that seem odd?"

"One's a blood mage and the other seems content to be covered in blood. What isn't odd when concerning those two? "

He continued his nightly routine of polishing his armor and sword, but was soon torn from the rhythmic movements by the sudden approach of both females.

"Well, that was fast," Varric stated. "You weren't even gone for quarter of an hour."

Without a word, the ranger entered their camp with the mage, freshly washed and dressed and trying to keep pace with her. But what caught his eye wasn't their hasty return. Instead, it was the ranger. She was sopping wet and still in her armor and clothing.

"Did you fall in?" the dwarf snickered.

"Intentionally," she replied as she snatched up her rucksack and disappeared into the trees again. Seconds later, the mage stepped forward with a confused look on her face.

"Do I even want to ask?" the warrior replied dryly.

"I don't quite know what happened," the mage admitted as she stared at the spot where the other woman had disappeared. "Falon said she would keep watch while I bathed. When I was done, I asked if she wanted me to keep watch for her. She said no and, uh, just jumped into the water."

"Dressed?" the dwarf asked.

"That's what I found strange. Is that normal for rangers? Because they're alone most of the time, are they worried someone will run off with their things when they aren't looking? If that's the case, I would have kept her weapons safe."

The dwarf merely began to laugh while Fenris rolled his eyes at the entire exchange. Just then, the ranger returned, fully dressed all the way down to her boots and bracers but at least in clean clothes. Pointedly ignoring the dwarf's chortling, she kneeled down in front of the fire and tore off a piece of the rabbit before handing it to the mage.

Clearly the woman didn't know how much ammunition she had just given the dwarf. It was evidence enough from the glint in the rogue's eye.

The dwarf merely smiled, "A little shy are we?"

"Shut up and eat your rabbit," she murmured as she ripped off a leg for herself.

Ever the pacifist, the mage took the opportunity to work her charm on the dwarf in an attempt to divert his attention away from the ranger's dodging, "Varric could you tell me again how you tamed the Blight wolf?"

"Aw, come on Daisy. Don't change the subject."

"Why not?" the ranger shot back. "The old subject was stupid and this one isn't. Indulge the mage and tell the story."

He smirked as he gingerly picked at his piece of rabbit, "At this point, I think you could tell it Daisy."

"I think you should, Merrill. Last time it was a forest wolf, and then it was a forest wolf the size of a pony, now it's a Blight wolf."

"What?" the rogue asked incredulously with a smirk. "Everyone knows a good legend grows over time. Now do you want me to tell it or not?"

The ranger merely gave the dwarf a dismissive gesture as she reclined on her bedroll.

"Ahem, so where was I, oh right, so there I was, standing in an impenetrable pit of fire. The very sky an inferno above me while trees tumbled down upon by head every second. And then I heard it, the cold, eerie cry of a wolf as it ripped through the chorus of burning wood and-"

The dwarf was cut short by a true wolf howl that pierced the stalwart night. It continued on for several seconds before slowly dying out.

"How did you do that, Varric?"

"Uh, that wasn't me, Daisy."

All of them stared off into the night sky as if expecting to see the creature to streak across the sky. Moments ticked by only for the cry to sound again and then die. However, there were no other cries to answer it.

Suddenly, the ranger was on her feet and listening intently as the cries died out for a third time.

"What is it?" the mage asked.

The ranger said nothing at first as they all continued to listen to the warbling notes.

"In all seriousness, Varric," the ranger murmured without looking away from the trees. "How big was this wolf you came across?"

"Big. Maybe a little bit larger than a mabari."

"Was it lanky, like its legs or muzzle were somewhat too long for its body or face?"

"Um…sure, I guess. Yeah."

"What's it mean, Falon?" the mage whispered.

"These Blight wolves…," she continued as she stared at the shifting trees, "they're so big because they weren't normal wolves to begin with."

"Oh, that's great," Varric huffed as he reached for his crossbow. "So what were they and is what we're hearing now something we have to worry about."

"They were dire wolves…the Blight must have gotten his whole pack. That's why he's singing alone tonight. He's morning."

"What exactly is a dire wolf?" Fenris asked.

"Wolves that hunt far to the south of here. They shouldn't be this far north."

"So what makes a dire wolf so different from other wolves?"

"Similar traits that make a mabari different from other dogs."

"They're large?"

"You saw their alpha first hand, what do you think?" she replied as she turned from the howling and back to their fire. "And their smart."

"Is he going to do that all night?" Daisy whispered.

The ranger nodded, but didn't take her eyes off the flames, "His grief's too much to do anything else."

"We're not going to just leave him like that, are we?" she asked.

"Are you kidding, Daisy? That's a wolf, a massive one let me add. It's not like they're not equipped to survive on their own. Right, Falon?"

"If you're right in what you told me, he's young and all those wolves were his pack."

"What's going to happen to him?" the mage asked.

"Most likely? He will stay by the dead and howl like that until starvation finally claims him."

Varric finally turned from the forest back to the passive ranger by the fire, "You're not suggesting we actually take it in, are you? Look, I'm grateful for what it did for me back in the forest, but let's face facts. You take in stray cats and dogs, not oversized predators that would rather tear out your liver then cuddle up at your feet."

"I was just stating the obvious," she replied calmly as she poked at the fire. "This clearly isn't my call, now is it?"

"I don't know, you tell me ranger."

The ranger gave him a not subtle glare before turning her back to him, "Wolves die every day, just like men, just like insects, just like the rest of us. It's the way things are."

The wind picked up and threatened to gut out the fire they had just made.

"Does that mean we're just going to leave him?" the mage whispered again.

The dwarf tried not to listen to Daisy pleading voice or the way she was looking at him with those doleful eyes. But even he was hard pressed to ignore the sounds drifting on the wind now. He didn't quite understand how the ranger was remaining so passive and still claim to have an affinity to such beasts. Yet each time the wolf's howl picked up again, he noticed how her hand tightened around the stick she was holding until it threatened to break.

"Damn it…" the dwarf cursed as he scratched the back of his neck, "how hard would it be for us to find it?"

"You want us to help him?" the ranger asked without turning around.

"Only as long as we don't get lost, or maimed, or exhaust the rest of our supplies trying to wrangle him, then sure, why not? So, what's the best plan? Should we split up and track him down or-"

Before he could finish, all three of them were shocked when a howl erupted in the center of their camp. Even he was caught unawares as he jumped to his feet and reached for his sword until they all realized that it was coming from the ranger. Her head was tilted so far back that her hood and fallen down while her hands were cupped on the sides of her mouth. Fenris had to take a moment to realize that such a loud, mournful sound was coming from the little woman. The fact it sounded so like the creature that had been calling all night was just too eerie. When she was done, she was staring into the night as if expecting a reply.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

His pack…his family…all of them…they were gone.

Food was scarce and they were forced to travel far into the northern lands, despite the dangers that the unknown territory held. His father, their alpha, had been confident in their decision. After many days of hard travel, they took shelter at the base of the great mountains. Then, during the night, horrible creatures that smelled of decay and poison had climbed out of the earth. Without warning or provocation, they attacked, striking down their beta, his uncle, and cutting apart their hunters. He was frozen with fear at first and could only stand and watch as the red blood of wolf mixed with the monsters' grizzly black blood. But their pack was strong, and soon overwhelmed the creatures.

When the fighting had ceased, nearly a quarter of his pack lay dead, while the rest were wounded and bloodied. Two of his brothers had been slain the moment the fighting ensued, while his sister lay whimpering at his mother's feet from a horrible gash along the left side of her face. However, nothing prepared him for the sorrow to follow after that night. The creature's black blood turned out to be poisonous and not one wolf in his pack besides himself did not swallow it or contaminate their blood with it. Days passed and soon, the wolves began to change. They became deformed just like the creatures they had fought. They grew vicious and slowly forgot who they were. With the last dregs of clarity, his father made one last request.

"_Run. Far away. Grow strong and…never forget." _

He whined like a wet whelp, but did not leave his father's side. Not after the smell of rot permeated his scent, not after his eyes went crazed, not after nights of bone breaking spasms. But finally, after nearly five whole days, his father finally turned his burning, mad eyes on him and no longer saw his son.

So he ran.

And his family hunted him.

He ran so far and for so long, he no longer knew where he was. But he didn't care. There was no reason to know. He had no one. He had nothing. Only the moon seemed to mourn his loss, but even he brought little comfort to it all.

It was only after those strangers came and finally brought an end to his pack's misery did he feel like he was beginning to awake from some horrible walking nightmare. His paws were tender from the scorched ground, and his nose burnt from the smoke of the fire, but he could still sense their presence in the forest.

The young wolf hung his head in shame as he remembered the events from earlier. When that tree had fallen on him, he did not struggle to free himself. To his shame, he was content to lie there and let the flames consume him. But then something happened. He saw a creature, one of the strangers, fall down the embankment close to where he was pinned. The stranger had tried to climb back up, but the soil was too soft and he fell again and again. But he wasn't deterred, he tried another path that was blocked by fire. Forced to turn around and nearly blind with smoke, he still struggled to find a way out when the young wolf knew salvation was only a few short feet away. But the stranger couldn't find it.

The young wolf had grown angry at his blundering nearsightedness. Angry that his concern for this strange creature outweighed his own pitiful grief and guilt. He snarled and snapped at the air. He wanted to tear something, to bite, to rend because he had lost so much, had hurt so much, and his own conscience wouldn't allow him to end it all.

Before he realized it, he was free. In his blind rage, he ran but soon returned to lead his savior into the dried riverbed. From there, the wolf left him once he knew his debt had been repaid, and ran down the path into the deeper parts of the forest stand where the fire would not reach.

And that was where he was content to stay.

Like the fire which was slowly dying, his burning anger and resolve was too. The spirit within him was a fading ember, and this time, there was nothing left inside him to revive that fire. Even his pathetic howls did not strengthen his spirit. Their only answers were the swaying trees and the uncaring wind.

Loneliness.

He did not know that such a thing could be fatal, but he felt his heartbeat growing slower and slower. Up in the sky, his dear friend the moon could only silently watch. On nights like this, the wolf wished he would break his vow of silence and join him in song, if only to shatter the silence, if only to reassure him that there would be an end to this loneliness.

And as if answering his prayer, a strong defiant howl tore through the stoic night air.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He anxiously stepped out of the safety of the darkness and into the harsh glow of their fire as he finally set eyes on them.

One looked like a human but did not have the offensive, dirty smell that clung to so many of them. In fact, besides some strange smells that followed her, she carried a scent similar to his kind. She had the sharp, piercing gaze that didn't linger for too long and the slow, intended motions just like one of their hunters. She he immediately liked.

The other female was of the People and made him nervous at first. She was too close and too quick when he first arrived, but at least she was soft spoken. Only when the hunter made her ease away did he grow bold enough to approach her. When he did, he quickly scoffed at his earlier hesitance. She was kind and gentle. She smelled of summer flowers while the faint, untamed scent of magic flowed from her. This one he immediately liked as well.

The others were males, while the shortest one he had met before. He seemed just as nervous of him since when they first crossed paths, which only made him even more fearful. However, the hunter and other female's presence helped reassure him, so he tentatively scented the little creature. He once recalled his uncle call creatures like this dwarves, and this was only the second time he had seen one. He smelled like the hard stones of the mountains where they lived, but he also had a rich smell of oil that seemed to come from the strange animal skin that he was wearing.

However, he could not meet the gaze of the last member of their pack, though it wasn't his appearance that frightened him. White wolves were rare, but not uncommon among his kind. Perhaps that was the same here. But as soon as he stepped into their circle of firelight, the young wolf could practically feel this male's eyes on him. It felt calculating and stern, much like his father's had been. It made him very nervous and eager to flee back into the safety of the shadowy trees. In fact, all of them besides the first female was eagerly watching his every move. All he could do was cast his eyes downward and make himself as small as possible in hopes they wouldn't attack.

"You all need to stop staring at him," the female hunter said as she tended to the fire, "you're making him nervous. Especially you, Fenris."

"And why exactly am I singled out?" came the male's growling reply.

"Because you haven't taken your eyes off him ever since he entered camp. In their language, that's the highest forms of threats. It means you intend to attack him at any moment."

Instantly, the others directed their attention on to the both of them, for which he was extremely grateful. He took the opportunity to claim a spot on the other side of the fire. Not so far as to distance himself completely, but far enough away that he could comfortably observe and if need be, flee.

"You said before that he was young," the dwarf stated. "How young exactly?"

"Maybe a little under a year."

"You're joking. That wolf's the size of a full grown mabari."

As they conversed, he noticed that the other female, the one that smelled of magic, would glance at him out of the corner of her eye every few moments. He soon realized this was just harmless curiosity, and she would smile at him softly whenever he caught her looking at him. He liked this elf. She was also sitting a little ways off from the others, while the closest one to her was the hunter.

Because it was becoming colder as the night dragged on and she seemed kind enough, he slowly rose from his spot and sidled up next to her to share in her warmth. He realized too late how much a mistake that was. At first, he could smell the slight nervousness on the female elf when he laid down next to her, but it quickly evaporated as she relaxed into him. However, the two males seemed equally displeased by his boldness the moment he sank to the ground. The dwarf even jumped to his feet while the other resumed his frightening glare. He braced himself to bolt at a moment's call until two small sticks went sailing through the air. One bounced off the white elf's arm and the other hit the dwarf on the shoulder.

"I said knock it off," the hunter stated with a hint more ire than she had before. It wasn't enough to frighten him, but it was enough to make him think.

"He keeps inching closer," the dwarf stated.

"Because its cold and he is nothing but skin and bones," the hunter replied.

"I can understand that, but why get all cozy with Daisy?"

"Because Merrill's…Merrill. Of course she's non-threatening."

"And here I was just thinking he was sizing her up for a snack."

"Varric!"

"The dwarf has a point," the white elf murmured as he continued to stare at him. "If the wolf is hungry, then what's to stop it from taking a piece out of one of us?"

"He isn't."

"But you can't guarantee that."

"No, but I can't guarantee that you won't lose your temper and take a piece out of me either, but you don't seem me taking outrageous precautions."

Thankfully, the elf's attention was immediately drawn to their hunter.

"Are you saying that I'm as feral and unpredictable as that beast over there?"

"No, I'm saying I can at least can anticipate what he will do."

"Your pretentiousness is unfathomably daunting."

The wolf had the urge to shrink back into the cover of the trees, but a presence in the back of his mind urged him to stay. So instead, he resolved the exchange to just another confrontation between an alpha and beta. Which one was the alpha and the other the beta he had yet determined.

Just then, the little male stood up from his spot by the fire, "How exactly do you two get the resolve to go at it all the time? Really, we were able to evade a whole company of chevaliers, an oversized pack of Blight wolves, an entire forest fire, and you still want to spend half the night in a shouting match that may or may not end in a duel."

"Varric's right," the small female by his side replied as she carefully place a hand on his back, "we're all very tired. We shouldn't exhaust ourselves like this."

"Look, I say we let the wolf stay…as much as I'm still on the fence about it. It isn't like we haven't done anything reckless before, but I guess if we're just mindful of him, no one's going to lose an eye, or a finger, or possibly even a limb."

"Well of course you have to mindful of him," the hunter replied knowingly. "He isn't a wild beast incapable of thought or reason, but his kind are one of the most fearsome hunters that call-"

"Varric, Falon, look at this!" All three turned to see the wolf on his back with his tongue hanging out while the other elf scratched his belly. "He loves his tummy scratched just like Garm did. Isn't that sweet?"

The dwarf turned back to the hunter but at the same time, made no attempt to hide the smirk on his face, "Good to know the fearsome hunter likes his tummy scratched. I'll make sure to remember that the next time he has me cornered for a treat."

The wolf however was no longer so intrigued with the others' exchange. This was _amazing!_ If they all had the ability to do this, why was everyone so tense? Maybe it was the fire. It had to be the fire. Maybe it just made everyone too nervous. Anyone who had paws this nimble and was able to do this should never be so cranky. With a satisfying groan, he laid his head back on the mage's lap as she scratched the place in between his front legs that he was just never able to quite reach. And for a brief, blissful moment, he was utterly content.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

It didn't take him long to understand why the others treated him as they did. He knew the dwarf was unable to understand him, but he had first assumed that it was due to his kind in general. It became clear to the young wolf that even the elvhen were deaf to his voice. The only one that could fluently hear him, and apparently was the one who called out to him earlier that night, was the silent female that was now sitting on the edge of their firelight.

As the moon reached it's the apex of its journey across the sky that night, all except that same female were sound asleep. It was a strange concept to him, especially on a night when the moon was so bright. But he was new and thought it prudent to not question their ways. Instead, he approached the female as one would do in his situation with his head and tail down while nervously licking his lips.

"You do not have to be so formal here," she replied in a whisper while she continued to watch the undergrowth. "I'm not going to snap at your ear to put you in your place. You seem intelligent enough to figure that out on your own."

He confused and felt the beginning of a whine tickle his throat, but her words reassured him, _"I don't understand. Who is your pack's alpha?"_

"We don't have one."

"_You do not have an alpha? Who decides where you will den for the winter? Who leads you on hunts? Who keeps order among all of you?_

"Well, I am the one guiding them through the forest and I take care of the hunting. As for keeping order, well, that's mostly Varric's job, but each of us has a spark of sanity every now and then."

"_I'm still confused. Are you the alpha or is it this Varric?"_

"We don't have an alpha for our group," she repeated.

"_Group?"_

"It's like a pack, but only temporary."

He grew forlorn at that. Nothing made sense anymore. His pack was gone, and for a brief moment, he had remembered what it meant to be warm, full, and to be surrounded by others again, even if it wasn't his own family. He was so scared.

But then a gentle arm slowly wrapped around his shoulders as a head leaned into his. Instantly, his dark thoughts were chased away.

"It will be alright, young one. I will look after you."

This time, he couldn't help the high-pitched whine as he leaned into her, _"Do you know the Old Ways? Do you know the Way of the Song?"_

For a brief moment, he saw a sharp twinge of pain in her eyes, but as quickly as it appeared it was gone.

"I know enough," she whispered and ran her fingers through his fur. "For now, we'll rest."

"_So, I can stay with you?"_

"You can stay for as long as you wish."

At that, he meekly wagged his tail and licked her wrist, "_If you have no alphas, what do I call you?"_

"I am Falon."

"_Falon. And the other. The small one with the kind paws."_

"Her name is Merrill."

"_Merrill."_

"The dwarf is called Varric, and the other is Fenris."

"_Fen...ris? Does he know of the Songs as well?"_

Again, a forlorn shadow passed over her eyes as she solemnly shook head, but just as quickly she shoved the thoughts aside.

"Now you know of us, so what do we call you?"

"_Freki."_

She smiled at that, "That is an old name for such a young wolf. Do you know what it means?"

"_No, my father never told me."_

She slowly nodded her head, "You should get some rest, Freki. We have a long road ahead of us and you will need your strength."

"_You are not sleeping?"_

"It is my turn to stand watch while the others sleep."

"_Then, can I stay up with you?"_

She shook her head, "You need to rest. Go lie with Merrill. She will appreciate the warmth."

"_She will not be afraid?"_

Again, Falon shook her head and whispered, "A safe journey for you while you roam the Night Forest, Freki."

At that, Freki felt a warmth in his chest that had been far too cold for too long. It was good to hear such familiar words even if it was from a not so familiar face. He wagged his tail again and softly padded over to the slumbering elf, but not before turning and replying, "_May the shadows keep you, Falon."_

With that, the wolf gingerly laid himself down next to the slumbering elf. At first, he was unsure at what she would do, but the moment his fur brushed up against her, she turned over, wrapped a willowy arm around him, and pulled him close. She murmured quietly in her sleep, but moved no more. Only then did Freki let out a content sigh of relief and set his head down. For the first time in almost an entire moon, he went off into the Night Forest with no fears. He seemed to be among friends now and for that, he was grateful.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The magic hummed around him is the most delicious cacophony of death and destruction. He remembered well the feeling of ultimately submersing himself in it. But those days were gone. His control, his tolerance, it was nothing now. Not like it had been.

Finally, the rift broke and he was thrown utterly carelessly by the same power he had been admonishing just moments before. His legs were too weak to catch him and he crumbled onto the stone floor. His chest still burned from his earlier wound as did his arm which he had struggled to reattach properly, even his forehead was screaming from the dwarf's bolt. His entire body was brutally taxed from the fight and the drain of magic, and even with those two whores, the spell had been demanding. The need to return had been too great, yet no matter the justification, his body still protested harshly to such treatment.

Not for the first time did he curse his shortsightedness of not bringing at least one or two slaves with him.

He rubbed his chest, grimacing at the tenderness still lingering, but smiled when he remembered just who it was who gave it to him. The scars along the right side of his face pulled at his skin and distorted his somewhat handsome features. Out of habit, he ran his thumb over one the longest stretching lines that tapered off just above his collarbone.

He knew the elf had still been alive. Fenris had too much drive, too much tenacity to be put down with something as trivial as a hurricane. That was the reason he urged Denarius to choose him. But it appeared that because of those same traits, the magister and himself were finding it quite the challenge to corner their fierce little wolf.

The mage chuckled to himself again as he limped up the steps, "Well done, Fenris."

The news that the elf was still alive effectively balanced out his mood over the loss of the dwarf. He had wasted so much gold on semi-skilled smugglers and the tandem of overzealous political mages that were just as desperate as the last to gain some kind of foot-hole. He was ultimately forced to go there himself to retrieve the pathetic old man, and look what happened. The bastard didn't last nearly as long as he anticipated and he let the dwarf slip through his fingers…again!

He spat on the ground just remembering. He had been so close it was mind boggling. He had not expected Fenris to be there and had been distracted. All he needed was a few more moments, a few more tantalizing words, and the elf would have been eating out of the palm of his hand.

"Impertinent, dwarf."

But even if the rogue had cost him the elf as well as one of his pets, he at least was able to play one last hand. As subtle as it was.

At the edges of his conscious thoughts, he could feel his pets' uneasiness tempered with restlessness. In his debilitated state back in Halamshiral, it had taken some time to recognize that his Void stalker's presence was no longer there. But the others were sure to have sensed it the moment their brother's spirit was severed.

He would have to remember to bleed them later. Inshunni might have been able to leave his memories to the others. And while all of it would be moot in the end due to his plans, he and his pets would still enjoy the satisfaction of knowing which part each of those vermin played in the Void stalker's demise, if only so they could take their time slowly rendering each one into little pieces.

"Inrhada."

Appearing out the mage's very shadow, the Void stalker whisked around so that as the mist and magic finally solidified, it was standing before its master. It growled low and bared its fangs while it's barbed tailed gorged large flecks of stone from the chamber's floor.

"Yes, I am aware," the mage grunted. "But this does not take priority over our other concerns now." The Void stalker's hackles rose as it snarled at the mage. "Take to heart just who it is you are addressing," he replied in an icy tone that threatened to frost over the dampness of the stone walls around them. "While my errand has not been fruitful, I still find myself in modest spirits. Though that can easily be swayed otherwise, my pet." The Void stalker lowered its head and ears, but there was no changing its dead eyes that continued to stare at the mage before him. "I hope you continue to see it that way. Now, go locate the magister. I have news and I do not want to waste my time wandering this entire estate only to find he is still asleep again."

The Void stalker lowered its head and shoulders in a bow, "As you wish, Master."

In the span of a blink of an eye, the creature had fled back to the shadows to fulfill his master's order. Grunting, the mage continued towards the flight of stone steps at the other side of the room. At least, he knew they were on the other side of the room. He could barely make them out and only did due to the miniscule amount of light coming from the heavy door at the top. Again he cursed under his breath. Among his other multiple maladies, his eyesight was weakening.

Cursing at this realization, he limped towards the steps and with painstaking effort, made it to the door and into the adjoining hallway. From here, he would have to traverse another two flights of stairs to get out of the lower dungeons. By then he would be only a short distance from his own quarters. On the way, he would find a slave, hopefully a young one, and be able to refresh himself before seeing Denarius.

He had just reached the hallway of the main house when the tingling to his senses alerted him of Inrhada's return. Merely a wisp of a shadow due to the offending brightness of this area, the shapeless form of the Void stalker skirted around the light coming from the high windows and dove into the mage's shadow behind him.

"_Denarius is in the eastern solar, Master. I believe he is anticipating your arrival."_

Truly there he was not going to get a reprieve anytime soon. Waving his hand, he dismissed the Void stalker and instead turned around and began heading in the opposite direction.

On the way there, he passed several slaves who froze upon recognizing him. Most halted on the spot and bowed their heads as he passed. Nearly all of them trembled when he neared. They were not use to seeing him in the house, knowing that he preferred the dungeons and the lower quarters, but he also wasn't supposed to have returned this soon either, thus adding to their clamoring fear and confusion. He could practically smell it, and he found himself fighting the urge to grab one and drag them into a nearby room. But Denarius had already voiced his displeasure of him using his slaves so abruptly. The mess was manageable, he had only gotten carried away once, but he knew how the magister was about his property. And while the magister had been magnanimous throughout the years in his contributions in both funds and materials, Denarius wasn't one to let others forget what was ultimately his.

Despite this, he favored the mage when compared to others of similar caliber. Denarius had a thirst for power that he could admire and a keen mind that impressed him every now and again. But while the mage wasn't shy in his means to obtaining that power, he was cripplingly shortsighted and failed to see the ultimate prize from some of the few marginal sacrifices. Something he never truly understood from such a cut-throat politician.

Entering the solar after just coming from the dungeons left him marginally blinded. His eyes were taking longer to adjust to the late morning light, but he could easily make out the magister sitting in a nearby chaise. Kneeling next to his side while holding a tray of nuts and a glass of wine was a young slave. She had enough sense not to look up, but he smiled when he saw the liquid in Denarius's glass begin to ripple.

Without waiting for the mage to acknowledge his presence, he went over to the decanter and poured himself a glass of wine. "You seem to have recuperated well after your ordeal," he replied as he filled his cup.

"Is that general concern I sense in your voice, Kiol, or merely false empathy?"

The magister's voice was somewhat gravelly as if he had not been sleeping these past few nights.

"Come now, Denarius, you've known me long enough to deduce the answer to that on your own."

Rising from the chaise while taking his glass, Denarius regarded the youthful mage for a brief moment before walking over to the nearby window, "You don't seem the least surprised to see me still alive."

Kiol took a long draft of his glass before refilling it, "Inshunni informed me of your rescue…as well as our combined loss." He swirled the wine around the glass and took a seat on one of the lounges.

"Your pets are quite versatile. Though I don't quite believe you are utilizing them to their full potential."

"They have their uses, Denarius. As for what those uses are, I will be the one to determine that."

"And just how versatile were they when an endeavor that took nearly a decade in the making sank to the bottom of the ocean!" Kiol did not reply and took another sip of wine. "Where have you been during all this?"

"Working."

"Would you be so kind as to elaborate on that?"

"Research and acquisition of several rare and migratory items that I have been dutifully informing you about over the course of the last few months."

"And during all your 'work' did you not find it prudent to check in once you found that my ship sank?"

"What use would I have been, Denarius? You were retrieved from the ocean, the elf was lost, and I am no sailor. You even sent hunting groups out into the surrounding forests to search for him in the hopes that he did make it to shore, but you might as well have sent them chasing after a ghost. Of course, if you really find my absence that intolerable, I will be sure to remember that in the near future."

"This is not a joking matter, you insolent little child. You of all people would be the last one I would think would find this amusing."

"And why is that, Denarius?"

"Because after me, you had the most invested in this."

Kiol smirked and drained the remainder of his glass. He thought about getting another, but in his current state, just the one glass was beginning to have some effect on him. In the end, he decided against it.

But then as an afterthought, he said, "I wish you would have let me experiment on the sister when I had the opportunity."

"Slaves with magical abilities are hard enough to come by as it is. You know this," Denarius said as he stared out the window. "Besides, she served a purpose later on."

"One in which was entirely fruitless in the end and now is on the bottom of the Waking Sea," Kiol pointed out.

"Perhaps if you had listened to me and taken my advice, circumstances would have turned out differently."

"And if you had kept your pet on a shorter leash while gallivanting off in Seheron, we wouldn't have spent the last decade searching for him." Kiol shot back with more venom to his voice than he should have allowed. He set the glass down, but the magister had yet to say anything. "I told you it wasn't worth the risk. He was too volatile, too impressionable. He left your side for only a few months, and turned feral."

"That makes little difference now, Kiol. If you wish to try again, you are free to the newly acquired slaves, at least those that I have already inspected."

"You do understand that I had gone through at least a hundred until finally finding one of his caliber?"

"Then if you wish to find another, you best get started."

The mage scoffed at that, "Of course, if I had the elf here, I might be able to study his blood and isolate that which makes him susceptible to the lyrium."

Clearly that last remark had been the one to put the magister over the edge. Denarius threw his glass at him, missing the mage's feet by only a few inches. But it was the fire that erupted in the magister's hands that forced the mage to roll off the chaise and take a defensive position.

"I've had it with your remarks Kiol. In all the years we have spent trying to reclaim him, how much of a role did you play?"

"As I recalled, it was you who-"

"No excuses! In the end, it was that dog-lord apostate that proved to be our saving grace."

"You had to have known that it was too easy. It's as if nature itself protects that elf."

"Or at least had," Denarius snarled. But just as quickly as the magister's temper ignited, it slowly eased until he brushed the flames off and turned his back to Kiol. "Such a waste," he spat. With a defeated sigh, he asked, "How goes your search for these 'items'?"

"Quite prolific, in fact."

"You have found the dwarf?"

"Yes. He is attempting to find the tomb and has hired a guide, some backwoods vagrant that is almost as wild as the beasts she consorts with. There is also a Dalish mage in their midst; I suspect it's the same one that was once in Hawke's company."

"That's it?"

"Well, they were hard pressed after my slightly rash involvement of the Crows, but the four of them seem to be able to handle themselves quite well. It's rather impressive."

"There is a fourth in the dwarf's company?"

"Hmm? Ah, yes, it's our own dear little wolf."

It took a great deal of control not to smirk at the magister as he slowly turned back around to regard him. There was a glint in the old man's eyes that revealed just how much this news sparked his interest. If Kiol wasn't careful, he could very well get bit of fire tossed at him.

"What did you just say?"

Kiol leisurely rose from his chaise and made for the decanter until Denarius lunged for the smaller mage. Even for his age, the magister had a bit of strength to him. He seized Kiol by the front of his robes and pushed him into the nearby wall.

"Damn it, Kiol, what have you found out?"

Kiol glared at the pompous magister and desperately tried to subdue that deeply festering part of his magic. On the cusps of his mind he could hear both Inrhada and Indeges eagerly pull at their restraints at the possibility of bloodshed. But he had to pace himself.

"From what I've learned, he had somehow made it past the hunting groups you sent and found refuge in Kirkwall days after the shipwreck. Since then, he had been in the dwarf's care. Turns out he had been badly damaged during the entire ordeal. Though, from my own observations, he seemed to have recovered nicely."

"How long have you known this?"

"I've just recently found this out since my stay in Halamshiral."

"You've just now returned?"

"I was somewhat…detained."

"But he was there."

"Not anymore if I were to guess. From the looks of things when I left, he and the other three fled into the Dales. The last I heard, a contingent of chevaliers were marshaling to pursue them."

"And you didn't think to follow?" the magister spat as he released the mage. He began pacing as he rubbed his short beard. "Send word to Halamshiral. Hire the best trackers you can find and then meet them there in three days."

"A little overzealous aren't we?"

"One of the reasons I keep you around, Kiol is for the unique tricks that you possess. Yet lately I'm finding it harder and harder to counterbalance you attributes with your results."

"My _results_ are not what are in question," Kiol replied slowly. "Besides, you are acting rashly and making decisions on a matter you know little about."

"Then enlighten me."

Kiol scoffed and straightened his robes, "They are heading beyond the Dales, Denarius. No tracker short of a Dalish elf would be able to follow them, and then it would be a gamble."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Let them go." The magister's temper flared again, but he quickly spoke over it, "For now! I know you grew up in the capital all your life, but even you should know that there are places even mages should fear to tread."

"Then if this forest is as treacherous as you say, how are you so sure they will make it to this tomb?"

"If we know one thing, it's that the elf is a survivor, and when the dwarf is successful in reaching the shrine, then we shall be able to kill two birds with one stone."

"And how do you propose to orchestrate all this while in Minrathous?"

"I have my ways, Denarius. You know that."

The magister glared at the mage, "I'm getting tired of these risks you so frequently take behind my back, Kiol."

Kiol merely smiled as he tipped his glass, "Come now, Denarius, these so called risks are necessary, despite what those fools at the Citadel say. Trust me, I haven't disappointed you before, I don't intend to start now."


	16. Remnants of an Ancient Land

All respects and acknowledgements to Bioware, but I wouldn't mind a little credit now and then...

* * *

Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.

~Percy Shelley

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

A solid, deep breath in.

And wait.

Wait.

Wait…

She could hear them just ahead. There was no wind, and while it did not betray their scent, it meant the slightest rustle could be heard from any given distance.

Breathe.

Wait.

And move.

Smooth as the shadows around them and just as silent, two figures moved through the foliage. The overgrowth made it difficult to maneuver, but the layers of pine needles muffled their steps.

And wait.

Another breath. In. Out.

Listen.

Now they could see them. Their reddish brown coats glistened in the few patches of sun that had managed to escape through the overcast sky.

Wait.

Move…carefully.

Wait.

The clearing was covered in the last clover of the season. The red stags and hinds that were grazing were already fat and round in preparation for the approaching winter. Unlike her companions, they were privy to the rapidly approaching winter winds and the rate at which the trees were turning. However, that was an entirely different matter…one she would deal with later. Forcing the distracting thoughts aside, she focused on the task at hand.

Wait.

Watch.

The clearing was very small. If they were discovered, their prey would only need half of a heartbeat to disappear into the thicket behind them. Even now, the thin tendrils of woody vines and young trees prevented any hopes of a bow and arrow. They were going to have to rely solely on speed for this one.

Wait.

Watch.

And therein they were presented with an opportunity. A young stag, perhaps no more than a few summers old. Nothing appeared wrong as he grazed, but as the stag walked over to another patch, the limp as well as the old wound on his flank and the way he favored his leg was hard not to notice. Perhaps it was a wound from the year's earlier rut, or maybe he had escaped another predator. Whatever the reason, it was an opportunity now.

There.

She stared at their intended target and slowly brought her gaze around until she caught the wolf's yellow eyes. She held them and then slowly turned her sights back onto the lame stag. She turned once more to make sure he understood, but instead, the young wolf turned his eyes to a larger, healthier stag.

Her gaze became stern.

No.

But the young wolf was insistent. Again he turned his sights unto the larger stag. This time, she did not turn her eyes away as she stared down the pup. To drive her point home, she went as far as to raise the side of her mouth to show off one of her dull incisors.

You will not sabotage this.

At that, Freki laid his ears back and crouched low as he liked his lips. Satisfied, the ranger relaxed her stance as she took her eyes of the wolf and searched for the lame stag once more. Silently, she unsheathed her dagger and lowered her head.

Begin.

The large wolf disappeared in the thicket as she stealthy made her way closer. Just a few more seconds and they would be in position. Already, the forest was beginning to realize their presence. Silence was slowly taking hold of everything. Soon, an uneasiness would grip the herd. They would have to strike soon, or else risk losing their prey.

A rustle of wings overhead forced the hunter to still. Slowly she looked up over the rim of her hood, dreading to see one of the small brown birds whose shrill alarms were sure to ruin everything. Instead, she inwardly heaved a sigh of relief to see two pairs of black beady eyes and glossy ebony feathers. The crows were not dumb, only opportunistic. They would watch and remain silent until blood was strewn and the hunt was successful. Only then would they call out for scraps and anything else the hunters would leave behind. They silently watched her stalk closer while just as eager for her and the wolf to draw blood.

She stopped just upon the edge of the clearing. Any further, and she would startle the herd. There she waited. She was intent on the other side where she watched for the subtle shift of gray amidst the thicket. There was a sudden ripple in the shadows. Her only tell.

She readied herself and the next instant, the wolf came bounding out of the trees with teeth bared. The red stag started and then bolted straight for the ranger. Immediately she broke free of her crouch and honed in on the lame stag. She put forth all her effort in speed and soon, the creature was in sight and running blindly towards her.

A stray hind kicked out in fear. She was forced to spin away or be slashed on the side of her face, but in doing so, she was thrown off balance. The little hunter tried to compensate, but instead of hitting her mark, she was too high and caught the stag in the shoulder.

The stag bleated in pain and tried to dislodge her and her dagger, but she kept it buried deep as she did her best to throw all her weight into bringing the stag down. The animal began violently thrashing and attempted to stab her with its antlers. She was still somehow able to hold on while the creature's attempts only embedded the dagger deeper into its side.

The hunter hoped that fatigue would grip the animal before it got a solid strike only to be caught off guard as a sharp, cloven hoof caught the upper part of her leg. A yelp was pulled from her, but she quickly stifled it as she refused to let go. Only when she was beginning to think the animal was going to overpower her did the mass of gray fur come hurtling from the stag's blindside.

A muffled scream escaped the stag as Freki's jaws snatched the deer around the face. His aim was true as he sunk his fangs into the stag's muzzle. With Freki preventing the deer from opening its mouth and crushing its nasal passage at the same time, it was now a waiting game all over again. Slowly, the blood loss would take a toll, but ultimately it would be the loss of air that would force the stag down.

Even now, as they battled to keep the stag subdued, her thoughts strayed to the creature's shallow rapid breathing that was being wasted, the whites of its panicked eyes, and its hoarse, feeble cries. She could end quickly. She could easily wrench her dagger free and drive the blade home into the creature's heart. And then it would all be over. Instead, she added her weight to Freki's to bring the stag down. With a painful bellow, the stag was brought to its knees.

There would be a day for the young wolf when there were no hunters with arrows or blades. Only claws and fangs. This was needed. The stag's suffering was needed, as much as it pained her to prolong it.

This was the way of things.

With a defeated groan and shudder, the stag fell onto its side. The moment it keeled over, both hunter's rushed to the throat.

There was a spray of crimson, a chorus of crow calls, and then it was over.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"So, if we're going by this," Varric said as he pointed to what she assumed was their current position on the map, "we should be making good time."

Falon picked up his finger and placed it a several inches north and a few more to the east, "If we _were_ going by that, then yes."

Varric scrutinized the map, "Wait a second, I can see the Frostbacks, that means we have to be farther south than this."

"At first we were making a diagonal cut through the Dales," the ranger stated, "but I changed direction perhaps three days in."

"You didn't think to mention that little tidbit?"

"We had barely any supplies, and the steppes of the Dales aren't known to be a very fruitful place."

The dwarf rolled his eyes as he grabbed his bowl of deer stew, finished off the last of it, and poured himself another from the simmering pot over the fire.

"So, we aren't in the Dales?" Merrill asked. "How did we miss it?"

"No," he replied between bites, "she's saying we've basically side-stepped the main territory and added who knows how many days to our little forest adventure."

The ranger put down the arrow she had been fletching and gestured toward the mage, "Merrill, you've heard about the elves' old homeland, right?"

"Well-"

"Tell him why Andraste was so quick to give them this glorified piece of dirt after they fought for her."

"I don't quite know-"

"Tell him why no one tries to settle south of Halamshiral even after the fall of the Dales."

"I think I under-"

"Tell him why the-"

"I would Falon if you would let me speak!" she snapped at the ranger while both Falon and Varric were taken aback by her outburst.

Merrill cleared her throat and turned to Varric in a much gentler voice, "I think what Falon's referring to is the Green Dessert. It's what most Dalish call the southern parts of the Dales." She took a stick and drew a big irregular circle in the soil. "Halamshiral is the most southern city here. The city was built as a capital because it sits on a spring. Everything south of it is mostly steppes and grasslands. The only forests we encounter from here on out, including this one, are here because the trees are so big, that their roots are able to reach the ground water buried deep below."

"Hmm, I thought it strange that we didn't come across any streams or lakes for the past couple of weeks," the dwarf mused. "Again…you didn't think this little tidbit was important?" he jibbed at the ranger.

"You wanted to resupply in Halamshiral. I didn't know we would be run out of town by a blood mage and his Void stalker pet."

"We should be alright, though," Merrill stated. "There are catchment springs along the Frostbacks. I've seen them before several years ago when my clan was still in Ferelden."

"You saw them on the western side. The mountains keep most of the rain from coming to these lands. That storm a few weeks ago was a fluke and one we're not likely to encounter again for some time."

"Then what about the Arbor Wilds?" Merrill asked. "We should have enough water once we reach those lands."

"That's assuming there _is_ water there," Varric stated as he gave a pointed look to the ranger. "Besides, with the path we're taking, it'll be at least another four weeks until we reach even the boundary of that place."

"Four and a half," the ranger corrected.

"Great, so what are we going to do about water until then?"

"We'll be alright with water. It's food and supplies that should be our main concern now. Game is going to start to become much scarcer until we reach the Wilds."

"Forgive me for being a little skeptical, but unless your waterskin magically replenishes itself every time you take a drink, how do you propose we go about finding water?"

"We-"

There was movement from the foliage behind them and all three turned just as a slate gray mass came bounding out the scrub followed by a rather disheveled warrior. Instantly, the massive wolf placed itself between her and Falon. He looked up at Merrill and wagged his tail slightly while Falon watched him intently.

"From the look on your face," Varric stated to the elf, "I'm guessing that you've had no such luck. That, or you did. You have such a sour look on your face so often, it's getting hard for me to tell."

Fenris threw three empty waterskins back at them as he ignored the dwarf's comment, "I don't understand how anything can survive out here, much less a creature of the wolf's size, when there is no trace of water within miles."

"These lands aren't their normal hunting grounds," Falon replied. "The fact that he and his pack was this far north is…unusual."

The wolf mouthed the mage's arm in a way of greeting. Merrill played with him but not for long. The wolf always got carried away after awhile and his teeth were very strong. But Merrill had to admit, with Falon's guidance, the young wolf had undergone a rapid transformation in just a few short weeks. The ranger was always against killing deer or stag because it was far too much for them to eat at one sitting, but with Freki's presence, she was now able to hunt the larger, easier game without guilt. The fact that the wolf ate more than the three of them combined showed in the amount of lean muscle that covered his once protruding bones. He no longer looked the part of a starved, gangly mongrel dog, but now resembled the lithe, young wolf that he was. His head was almost level with the warrior's chest now while his coat was no longer patchy and an off-gray color but a smooth and shiny solid slate.

The wolf abruptly got up and bounded over to the warrior where he playfully latched onto one of his greaves and then dashing away before the elf could react. Falon was observing the exchange out of the corner of her eye, but otherwise seemed completely oblivious to it. Though Merrill thought it somewhat odd. At first, Freki had been timid and almost fearful of Fenris. And for good reason. The elf was harsh with his words and his demeanor, yet for some strange reason, the wolf seemed drawn to him. It started out as innate curiosity, which grew with each day until he started trying to initiate small games with the warrior, to no avail. Eventually, when the wolf wasn't shadowing the hunter, Freki would be trailing Fenris around camp or joining him during his watches.

"We did find these, however," Fenris replied as he offhandedly waved the wolf away and then pulled out three, only slightly damaged arrows.

"Those are arrows from a Dalish hunter," Merrill said as she took one from Fenris. "Where did you find them?"

"The wolf found them not more than two miles from our camp," Fenris stated as he handed the arrows to the ranger while seemingly pretending that the mage didn't even voice her question.

Falon ran her fingers over the white and gray fletching while Varric took one to examine for himself.

"Don't most clans have a craftsman of sorts?" Varric asked. "Maybe we can make a trade for some supplies."

"Do you think that's wise considering our present company?" Fenris stated.

"Stop speaking as if I'm not here, Fenris," Merrill shot at the warrior, but once again, he didn't even seem to notice her presence. "I think Varric has a point. If there is a clan close by, we could most likely trade with them. And even if they did recognize me, I don't think word of…what happened would have reached this far this fast."

"Hmph, is that really what you think? Are your people really that naïve or are they just so consumed with their own pride that they do not see the danger before them?"

"What do you know about being Dalish, Fenris?"

"Enough to know that your own people were ready to kill us as soon as we came out of that cave. You don't think these elves will hesitate the moment they figure out what you are?"

"I think Fenris is right. We should stay away from them," Falon stated without looking up from her arrow.

Slightly perplexed by her comment, Merrill rounded on her, "What, why?"

"If they haven't approached us yet, fine. If they don't know we're here, even better."

"You still haven't said why."

"The same reason bears and mountain cats go after wolves. Game is scarce in this area, do you really think they will be alright with five more competitors for food?"

Merrill inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. At least she didn't agree with Fenris's earlier comment about her magic, but she hadn't rebuked it yet either. Still, she thought it foolish that they shouldn't at least attempt to barter with the clan.

"I still believe we should go," Merrill stated.

"I agree with, Daisy," Varric said.

Falon remained silent as she finished an arrow, placed it into her quiver, and reached for another shaft.

"This whole endeavor is foolish," Fenris snapped. "We've been undersupplied and undermanned from the beginning, and now you want to barter with elves that may or may not be hostile."

Varric threw the last of breakfast to Freki, "What, do you have a better idea?"

"We should find a pass through the Frostbacks before the snow sets in, and spend the winter in the Ferelden borders. If we continue like this, either starvation will get us or the cold will."

Varric rubbed his chin before turning to Falon, "And what do you say about this?"

She shrugged, "We aren't going to make it equipped as we are now. The winters aren't as harsh as they can be in Ferelden but they're nothing to scoff at."

"But if we were equipped…" Varric led on.

"Like I said before, it's possible, not easy, but possible."

Fenris narrowed his eyes on the ranger, "You've advised him against going further south before?"

"Of course I have. I'm not stupid enough to think that the three of you can survive out here alone, but your chances don't increase that much with me here either."

"You said that the winters aren't as harsh as the ones in Ferelden," Merrill stated. "So why would you suggest heading across the Frostbacks rather than continue on?"

"Because, the Arbor Wilds are not…normal."

"You're going to have to be more specific than that," Varric said.

"The forest is very old and things linger in it."

Fenris shifted by the fire, "Darkspawn."

"Among other things. You want to go to a place that has been virtually undisturbed for centuries. Spirits and demons that we could encounter can be on a whole different level than the ones you've seen before. But we have an agreement, so whatever you decide, I'll take you there."

"We've seen our fair share of spirits and demons. We know how to handle ourselves around them," Varric said.

Merrill shifted uncomfortably on the hard ground. To say she wasn't nervous about Falon's warning was a lie, but the temptation of what they could actually find was winning out.

"If we can make it, I want to continue," she finally admitted.

The warrior cursed under his breath in Arcanum before giving the rest of them a dismissive gesture and went to the edge of their camp to take watch.

"So, how far do you think it will take us to get to the Dalish camp?" Merrill asked.

"From what Freki tells me, if you leave now, you might be able to make it there and back before dusk," Falon replied without looking up from her arrow.

"You aren't going with us?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Without looking up from her work, Falon replied, "Because, you're going there for supplies. Most Dalish are weary of outsiders as it is, a human hunter in your group isn't going to make it any easier if they do decide to barter with you."

"But-"

"Fair enough," Varric stated as he grabbed his pack. "What direction do you think their camp is?"

"Freki says that he can smell them nearby where he and Fenris found the arrows. Head north for a ways and they should find you."

Merrill picked up her pack and staff, "Shouldn't Freki come with us, at least to show us the way?"

Varric huffed, "If Falon would make them wary of us, I can only imagine what they would do if they saw him walking up."

Freki growled and turned to the ranger. Falon stared at him for a moment before saying, "He says he'll show you the way, but will stay out of sight once you reach the clan."

"Isn't that comforting," Varric mumbled.

He swung Bianca onto his shoulder, but before he left, Falon gestured him over. He leaned down towards the ranger and exchanged a few words that Merrill was unable to follow. When he was done, he turned and began to follow the elf into the brush. The wolf gave another whiney-growl before nudging the ranger with his head and proceeded to join the others.

Merrill hung back, still unsure of why they were so at ease at leaving the woman alone out here, "Falon…are you sure you won't come?"

"If you're going to go, you better go now. The days are getting shorter and finding your way back through the dark will be hard even with Freki." Still, she remained by the fire, unsure as to what she should say until Falon finally looked up from her work. "I'm not going to run off while all of you are gone, Merrill," she stated as she added another log to the fire.

"Do you promise?"

"Promise what?"

"That you're not coming with us now because of something else, that you won't abandon us."

Falon stared up at her with a strange look in her eye. Merrill realized the ridiculousness of her request, but it was something that had gnawed at her as soon as they reached the sanctuary of the trees. Something called to the young mage here, and she felt as if it called to the ranger as well. Even with the warm glow of the fire, a coldness seeped into Falon's eyes and she turned away from the mage.

"Like I said, you don't have to worry about me going anywhere," she stated as she reached for another arrow shaft. "Varric and I had a deal. Just focus on watching out for yourself and the others." Merrill merely nodded her understanding and turned to leave. "Merrill…"

"Yes?"

"Here"

Falon reached for her dagger and unbuckled it from her belt. Merrill had seen her fight with it before and sharpen it on more than one occasion. It was elegantly curved and had an amber hilt that was wrapped in worn, black leather. In truth, she had never seen another weapon like it. Falon pulled it out of its sheath and inspected the mirror-like surface of the blade before sheathing it and holding it out for her.

Merrill held up her hands, "I-I'm not really much good with a blade. Even a dagger."

"You should be," she stated as she pushed the sheathed blade into her hands, "but even if you're not, it's alright this time. This dagger is…important to me. It's the only thing I have left of…"

"Falon?"

"It's nothing. Just know that I rarely let it leave my side. I'm giving it to you now so that you can return it, alright?"

"If it means that much to you…"

"Just take it before I change my mind," she blurted out. "You and Varric are determined to see this through, and the less time you waste worrying if I'll run off or not, the more energy you can focus on accomplishing this."

"Alright," she replied as she strapped the blade to her belt. "I'll make sure to bring it back to you."

"Thank you, now hurry. Those two will leave you behind if you don't."

"_Dareth shiral_, Falon."

The ranger made no reply. She merely nodded and returned to her arrow.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Something was off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. He wasn't sure when he first started feeling it. Maybe it was the wolf. Freki, like any pup, was usually pretty energetic and, despite his size, he was always under his feet in some way. But now the wolf was almost tense. He hadn't even tried to chew on Bianca once since he left Falon's sight. Every few seconds he would scent he air before trotting ahead with his tail level and his ears twitching in every direction. Fenris seemed to notice it too. If his gaze wasn't lingering on the wolf, it was on the trees. Sure, it was one thing to be on your guard, but it almost felt as if they were preparing themselves for a battle with the very elves they were searching for. But the grim silence that had befallen the wolf, the warrior, and the rogue was suddenly shattered as Merrill caught up with him. The uneasiness that had surrounded them had gone unnoticed by the mage, although she had pulled out that claw she had taken to wearing around her neck and was continuously playing with it. However, Varric was not perturbed by her presence or the fact that he could practically see the question bouncing around in her head. He was almost looking forward to the distraction.

As if on cue, Merrill turned to him, "Varric, why did you let Falon stayed behind? Don't you think it was odd that she didn't want to come?"

"At first sure, but I think I can understand why she's choosing to run solo tonight."

"And why is that?"

"Isn't it obvious, mage?" the warrior stated as he brushed past them. "She's half-elf and if her affinity to the forest suggests anything, she's most likely half-Dalish."

Merrill's eyes widened as she attempted to catch up with Fenris's long strides, "D-Did she tell you this?"

"She hides it well, Daisy, but it's sort of obvious after a while. Though those Orlesians were quick to spot her. If you listen carefully, she has a bit of your accent too."

"I didn't even consider…"

"Why should you?" the warrior shot over his shoulder. "Your people don't even recognize elves that live in the city as true elves, why should you notice it in someone who carries only half their blood?"

She waited until Fenris and Freki were some distance ahead of them before leaning in towards the dwarf, "Varric, you don't think Falon…resents the Dalish, do you?"

"Well, if you're any indication, then no. In fact, if you haven't really noticed, Daisy, she kind of keeps an eye out for you."

"Really? I always thought that since she was staying with me, she felt obligated…" Merrill shook her head quickly, "I'm rambling again. What I wanted to say was that I'm not exactly, well technically I guess you could say…"

"Because you not with your clan anymore, you don't know if she considers you Dalish or not," Varric finished for her.

"Yes."

"I think you're overthinking it now."

"I didn't really think I could do that."

"Look, some people, people like Falon, they're just a certain way. They find themselves on neither one side nor the other, basically stuck in-between worlds."

"Similar to me in the Alienage," she whispered.

"Maybe," the dwarf replied. "And if so, then you know what it's like to have one side call you out on it, right?"

"I suppose so. If she were to enter the camp, she would have more eyes on her than the rest of us."

"And chances are they would see that she wasn't completely human either," the dwarf added.

"Do you think she may have been right? Perhaps it's best that we avoid the clan."

"We've come this far," Varric said somewhat gruffly. "If we can continue by just making a few trades with their craftsman, then I say we do it. If you're still nervous, then just put on your best smile and keep your head down. We'll be in and out before you know it."

The large wolf that had been on point the entire time suddenly came to a halt and practically froze in place. His nose was quivering as his golden eyes locked onto a spot dead ahead of them.

"I believe they have found us," Fenris stated as he followed the wolf's gaze.

"I didn't think we would come across them so fast," Varric mumbled.

Freki gave a dismissive snort before turning back towards them. He gave a low whine and mouthed Fenris's arm before dashing off into the underbrush and disappearing. As the three of them stood there, it was then that he suddenly remembered one of the reasons why he was so nervous about their encounter.

"I know we don't have much time to discuss this," he said in hushed tones as he tried to gather them in closer, "but just go along with it this time. Besides not mentioning the obvious, let's not mention the fact that Falon and Freki are still out here."

"Why wouldn't-"

"Just go with it, Daisy. I'll explain later."

If she or Fenris had any other questions, they were cut off as not one, but three Dalish hunters emerged like green shadows out of the trees. Their bows were out, but thankfully not drawn. Two of them were women. He almost said all three of them were because the third was so young and his features were so fine, that he almost mistook the youth for a young woman. The hunters eyed the three of them critically before one, a tall red-head with piercing green eyes, stepped forwards towards Merrill.

"_Aneth ara_, sister. We do not get visitors so far out here nor with such strange…companions." She said the last part as her eyes lingered on their stoic warrior's hair and face. "I am Kirith and this Eduria and Tarl."

"_Ma serannas_," Merrill replied as she bowed her head slightly. "I'm Merrill and these are my friends Varric and Fenris. We…ah were hoping we could barter with your clan's craftsmen for some supplies."

"I'm sorry, Merrill," Kirith replied, "but Master Boryen as well as our Keeper left the camp nearly three days ago. We have yet to get word on when they will return."

"Oh."

"Well, then maybe we could trade with someone else?" Varric suggested.

"There is Rylis. He is Master Boryen's apprentice. I suppose he would not mind if you traded with him while he is away, as long as it is only necessities and not weapons or gear."

Then the other huntress, a few inches shorter than the other and with the same colored eyes only with black hair, approached her sister, "Kirith, we cannot bring them to the clan, not with the Keeper away!"

"Hush Eduria. I'm not turning away one of our own in these woods. Not if there is a Servant out hunting."

"If you have not noticed it yet sister, only one of them is Dalish."

Varric chuckled, "My, that fabled sense of perception must be what everyone is talking about when they speak of Dalish hunters."

Kirith smirked while Eduria merely glared at the dwarf.

"Come, you will follow us," Kirith stated as she began leading them.

Immediately, Kirith ushered Merrill to her side and began conversing with the mage. Varric was unsure, but he suddenly felt uneased with this, but as they moved out, the other two hunters brought up the rear, effectively sandwiching him and the warrior. Whether they did this intentionally or not, he couldn't tell, but if Fenris's intense broodiness was anything to go by, then he would say that the elf was uncomfortable as much as he was.

After the abrupt appearance of the three wore off, he suddenly noticed the rather full waterskins hanging off their belts and was particularly aware of his dry mouth.

"Just curious," he suddenly said, "how do you all find water out here?"

"That is strange," Kirith said over her shoulder, "how did you all make it this far and not know how to procure water?"

"Dumb luck?"

"It takes more than luck to survive out here, dwarf," she laughed. "Come, I will show you."

Kirith pulled out a metal tube that was fashioned with a small lip at one end before grabbing Varric's empty waterskin off his belt. She carefully perused the trees and when she found a rather large one, she proceeded to hammer the tube into the tree with the hilt of her dagger. When it was halfway in, she placed Varric's waterskin beneath the lip of the tube. A few seconds later, water began to flow into her waterskin.

"Interesting," Fenris mused. "I've heard of such techniques before, but I did not think you could do it on the trees here."

The hunter smiled and handed the dwarf a now full waterskin, "As I said, it takes more than just dumb luck to survive out here. How you haven't learned that by now must mean you have someone looking out for you."

Varric merely nodded his thanks and continued to follow the hunters.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Perhaps it would have been better if he had stayed with the ranger. Even though they had reached some form of social truce, there was still the matter that they did not truly know this woman, despite the aid she had given them in the past. And after his past experiences with others, he was hard pressed to place his trust so quickly in her hands, even if she had saved his life on more than one occasion. Still, it was only shortly after entering the Dalish camp that he realized he should have stayed behind. Even with his new armor covering the majority of his markings, he didn't have a helm to hide his face or head. At least in Halamshiral or Kirkwall, the majority would attempt to hide their stares. Here, amongst the Dalish, their open gawking was grating on his nerves.

However, as word spread that the mage was with them, most of their attention was gradually pulled to her. Varric was led to a one of their strange land-ships by one of the elves while the mage and the other hunter, Kirith, began to make their way towards a communal fire in the center of their camp. With little effort, he chose to follow the dwarf, but already he had lost sight of him amidst the elves' strange vessels. He took one last look at the elves converged around the fire before he attempted to catch up with the dwarf. The clan had chosen a site where the trees towered high above them. Some of the trees looked sickly, nearly dead, but the majority of them had sweeping canopies that shaded all of undergrowth beneath them. The forest floor was open and clear of most of the brush because so little light made it to the bottom. Even grass was hard pressed to find. However, despite their openness to the mage and their willingness to help the dwarf, Fenris was still uneased at entering the camp. It began as soon as the wolf left their group, and for once, he wish he possessed the skill the ranger had in being able to communicate with the creature.

"I have never seen _vallaslin_ like that before."

Fenris was pulled from his thoughts and quickly turned to the young elf, Tarl, standing by one of the land-ships.

"What?"

"_Vallaslin_," he repeated as he gestured to the markings on Fenris's neck. "It's made with the person's blood and a special ink. However, I've never seen markings like that before."

"That is because they are not the markings of your people," he replied in a controlled tone. "It is lyrium."

"Lyrium? Isn't that the strange substance the dwarves mine and that humans use in magic?"

"It is."

"Are you a mage?"

"Of course not!"

"Sorry, it just that you're a very strange looking elf." It was clear that he should have stayed with the ranger. Without another word to the hunter, he picked up his search for the dwarf, but to his dismay, Tarl began to follow him. "It's obvious that you're not Dalish, but have you and the dwarf known Merrill long?"

"Unfortunately."

"Did you know her clan?"

"No."

"Why isn't she with her clan and out here with you two?"

"If you wish to know, why do you not ask her?"

"Kirith says I should keep an eye on you two…that is, she says that you might not know our customs and wants to make sure you're at ease while they talk with Merrill."

Fenris scrutinized the young hunter. He was short, even for an elf, and the bow he carried looked too strong for him to pull back. Unlike the others of the clan that seemed curious about him, Tarl seemed nervous in his presence, though his own curiosity was seemed to be warring with him.

"The hunter said that your Keeper and craftsman left. Why is that?" Fenris asked.

"It really isn't my place to say."

"One of your fellow hunters has already said it. You might as well continue."

Tarl nervously glanced over at the fire where the other hunters and clansmen had gathered before returning to the warrior, "They say that a Servant in these woods."

"A Servant?"

"Merrill's never told you the story then?"

"The mage attempts to tell me many things. I 've grown adapt at ignoring her."

The hunter had the most peculiar look on his face before quickly dismissing his words and continuing, "Many clans don't know about the Servants, not unless they've lived on this side of the Frostbacks or travel this far south. When we speak of a Servant, we speak of a Servant of Fen'Harel."

"You speak of demons?"

"No, they aren't demons or spirits. They can be anything: trees, birds, stag, anything that can be swayed by the Dread Wolf. They act as his eyes and ears and sometimes lure the unwary to their doom. In agreeing to serve him, these creatures are granted special powers and are very difficult to track and kill. But if a hunter ever does spot one or suspect that one is out there, it's the duty of the Keeper and the entire clan to hunt it down and kill it."

"Why?"

"Because, especially in these woods, if you see a Servant and they discover your clan, they will surely bring the Dread Wolf upon you."

At first, he found the young elf's tale somewhat daunting. He had heard enough of the mage's prattle about spirits and demons that he couldn't understand how she was afraid of some fictional monstrous wolf and not a demon from the Fade. But as the elf continued, Fenris couldn't help but think of Freki's earlier behavior or Falon's. He quickly banished the thought. There were far more logical reasons why they both were wary of the clan.

"Have you seen one on your travels?"

Fenris glanced back up at the hunter, "You mean a Servant? How am I to know what one even looks like if this is the first I am hearing of them?"

"You can't mistake them sometimes, especially the animals. They are large, strong, and sometimes much more intelligent. That's why it takes so many of the clansmen to bring one down."

He had heard enough. The wolf that followed them was no threat. This he had no doubt, despite the superstitious babble that Tarl spouted. In fact, he found himself somewhat annoyed that the elf would even suggest that of the creature. Deciding that he was done speaking, he abruptly turned and began to head for the fire, hoping that the dwarf would finish their business quickly and meet them there. However, the youth merely followed him. Ignoring the hunter, he placed himself on the edge of the firelight and leaned against one of the trees while Tarl sat on the ground close by. The mage was sitting by the fire and seemingly engrossed in a story that one of their elders was telling. All the while, the light began to fade overhead and he grew increasingly more and more restless. He wished the dwarf would hurry.

They began conversing with the mage again and inwardly he cringed. She was not known for her subtly nor her quick wit. As he stated before, he doubted they would react kindly to her blood magic. Hopefully she would be smart enough to mention this after the dwarf had procured their supplies…if she had the courage or stupidity to mention it at all that is.

"Is it true what they say about the elves that live in the human cities?" Fenris inwardly groaned at the voice on the ground next to him, but rather than wait for his reply, Tarl continued. "Do they…Do they really enslave elves still?"

"Yes."

"Then why do elves still live with the humans?"

Fenris glared down at the youth, "Have you never been out of this forest before?"

"No, of course not."

"If you did, you would have realized that life here is not much better off than the lives of other elves that live in the slums of cities. Neither of you are different in the fact that you settle for such meager existences. One scraps a living out of land that no one wants while the other settles for a life under the heels of nobles yet both are too self-absorbed in their own ideas of clan and community to care what happens to outsiders."

The boy was silent for a time before getting up and walking away. He wasn't against having him go, though in retrospect, he did not have to barb his words as he did just now. The elf was young and admitted that he didn't know life beyond these trees or his people. And while he still held firm to his opinions, it still didn't keep him from tasting the bitterness of his own words.

"You two both seem to be getting along well with the locals," a sardonic voice said from behind him. "And here I thought you would have scared them away with that glowy bit of yours, but as it turns out, you just have to put on a little extra of the broody goodness. Who knew you were so good at scaring kids?"

"Shut up, dwarf."

Varric chuckled and handed him a pack that was only slightly heavier than it was before.

"Turns out Kirith was wrong about their craftsman, or apprentice, whatever they call him. He wasn't too keen on bartering and said that he would have to wait until their Keeper returned before he would trade anything else. I was lucky to get this."

"So what now? They've said that they do not know when their Keeper will return. Do we head back or wait?"

"You've kept your ears open, right?" Fenris nodded. "Then you've heard why their Keeper is gone to begin with."

"Freki."

"At first, I thought Falon wasn't keen on coming here because of…well her. You don't suppose she knew the kind of reception that the wolf would have gotten and once they knew our connection to him?"

"I don't doubt it. Though why they are so superstitious over him is beyond me." As an afterthought, he also pointed out, "I saw her take you aside before we left. She told you not to mention her or the wolf. That is why you instructed us to do the same before the hunters approached us."

Varric nodded, "I thought it was a little strange, but then I saw that wolf bolt out of there. Now I'm intrigued, if not a little wary about all this. Kind of reminds me about how Ravini would always find some reason to duck out of visiting the Qunari compound whenever Hawke came calling." Varric continued to eye the group of Dalish as well as the fading light. Fenris suddenly had a desire for a drink right now, but would settle for the dwarf's waterskin as he pulled it out. He took a gulp before handing it to the elf who took a rather long draft of it. "They're asking Daisy if we want to stay the night."

"That would be unwise."

"Really? And here I thought we could all have one big slumber party." The elf glared down at him, but the dwarf shrugged him off. "Give me a minute to get her out of there and be ready to move. I've been getting a bad feeling about all of this as soon as we got here."

Varric stumbled as he made his way to the fire and Fenris couldn't help the smirk, "I see despite our predicament, you haven't wasted time in finding a drink."

Varric chuckled at the elf's comment and attempted to turn around and face him, but merely stumbled again, "That's funny, I don't remember drinking…"

Fenris's brief moment of joviality evaporated in seconds. He made to catch the dwarf before he hit the ground, but his own limbs were becoming unresponsive. All he accomplished was tripping over his own feet as his vision became blurred.

"_Vishante_ _kaffas_!" he spat.

The last thought he had was of the ranger and what he would do once he had his hands on her.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"…can't keep them here."

"We can and we will."

"What about her? We can't do this to one of our own."

The pounding in his head was almost unbearable and the voices above him were not helping as each syllable felt like it was being slammed on the side of his head.

"She isn't our own, how many times do we have to say that? What true elf would abandon their clansmen and choose to run with the likes of her?"

"She may not know. None of them might. I heard she is cunning like that."

In his haze, he had enough sense to ignore the pain and remain still. He recognized these voices. They were the two female hunters that had brought them here.

"I don't care if they do or not, and Keeper Rikesh won't either. What matters is that she had been warned and now it's our right to see that things are settled once and for all."

"But-"

The abrupt silence was his only warning before his head was pulled up by his hair. He bit back a hissed as he tried to make out their faces with his blurred vision.

"The warrior's awake. Quick, give me more of the serpent bane."

"If you give him anymore, he might not wake up."

"Hush, Eduria and just give it to me."

A tasteless liquid was shoved into his mouth and down his throat despite his attempts at coughing it back up. They covered his nose and forced him to swallow or drown in it. Again the haze took him, but not before he heard the howl of a lone wolf far off into the distance.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

It was strange, this feeling. He felt he knew this place, it even called to him, though the foreignness of it frightened him. Even now he knew that he shouldn't be alone, that others were searching for him, but he couldn't remember who they were. Not even the empty forest seemed to realize he was here. Why was that?

He called out into the darkness.

Nothing replied. Only the empty wind in the trees.

He called out again.

Still nothing.

He shook his head. This wasn't right. There was suppose to be something here, but the mere thought of it caused fear to grip his heart and his flesh to turn cold. But what scared him even more than what was missing from this forest was not remembering and not knowing. There had been a time like this before. He did not remember. He couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. The memories only brought on more pain and he was forced to run away from a past he could no longer claim. White-hot pain cut into his arms and into his chest, but he refused to acknowledge it. He wasn't going to run. They would not make him. Not now, not this time. Again the pain tried to cripple him, tried to make him forget, but instead of succumbing to it, he used it to fuel his anger. He wasn't going to forget. They weren't going to take anything else from him.

The mist began to recede, but dawn was still too far away. The last thing he remembered was his fading heartbeat and those taunting, burning eyes peering at him through the darkness.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"Fenris." He remembered this voice. The face of its owner was just beyond his grasp, but he knew it. "Fenris, come on, you have to open your eyes."

His eyes? How did he do that again? He wasn't sure, but the voice seemed urgent and the more he heard it, the more he wanted to try and do what it said, if only to calm it.

"Shit, Varric how much did they give him?"

"Ugh, I haven't a clue. Where are we anyway?"

Varric. He knew that name too. But besides not being able to place the name, he agreed with the new voice. Where were they?

"He's breathing's far too slow but at least Merrill's coming to."

Merrill… He grew restless when he heard that name. Why didn't he like it?

"Andrastae's ass. I've just remembered where we are and dawn isn't far off," that rough voice from before stated. "Can't you give him something?"

"I can, but we'll have to give it a few moments to take effect."

The first voice sounded scared, almost as if it were reluctant to say it.

"Something is better than dragging him through the forest on our backs."

"Or have him stop breathing," the voice replied in a whisper. "Keep an eye out while I do this."

Several moments passed with silence. He couldn't hear anything other than the constant chirp of insects nearby. Then, there was a pinch in his arm followed by something warm flowing over his skin. He was beginning to feel even heavier than he had before, and as the chirping began to fade, an intense, mind jarring pain radiated from the crook of his arm.

Instantly his eyes flew open and began to thrash. The pain was not unlike the sensation he received through his markings at the hands of a magister, but before he could struggle or utter a single curse, something was suddenly on top of him, pinning him to the ground and covering his mouth. His eyes focused on the form above him and instantly his markings began to glow.

"Fenris, calm down." He merely continued to glare at the ranger. What she had done to him, he could only imagine, but his arm was now as numb as his mind had been earlier. "I'm not going to let you up until you stop," she panted. He attempted to throw her off, but his body was still too heavy and unresponsive to do much more than shift her a little. "Are you done?" He practically growled at her, but that was ineffective. "I'm going to let you up," she replied slowly, "I have to get this thing out of your arm, but I can't do it while holding you down like this nor can I while you attempt to strangle me. Can you hold still for a moment, at least until I remove it?"

This time he blinked and she seemed to take it as his compliance. Falon removed her hand and immediately saw to his arm. When he followed her gaze, he felt his ire flare anew. She had opened the vein in the crook of his arm and had placed something in the cut. A fair amount of blood had pooled under his elbow, and as she attempted to remove whatever she had placed in there, the wound reopened and began to flow freely once again. Suddenly it was free and he spotted the nearly two inch snake fang that she held between her fingertips.

"Are you mad!"

Her bloody hand snapped over his mouth again, "Damn it, Fenris. I can only imagine how irate off you are right now, but can you just this once hold it back. If you do, I promise that you can shout all matter of curses at me, but until then, can we just get out of here?"

He pushed her off him and attempted to stifle the bleeding in his arm, "We deal with the Dalish for now, but after, you will explain this."

"Fair enough."

"Hey, Falon. I think Daisy's finally coming around." The ranger gave him one last beseeching look before going to the mage and rousing her.

As the ranger handed them their weapons and attempted to get the watery eyed mage to her feet, she shot Varric a sharp look as she grabbed Merrill's staff.

"I told you that whatever you do, don't mention my presence or Freki to them. How hard was that to follow?"

Varric pushed several strands of his disheveled hair out of his face as he glanced at the back of the land-ship to the two hunters that were out cold and then out of the window and into the blackness.

"One," he stated rather shortly, "if that kind of information was that imperative, for once, don't you think you should have taken the time and explained it all? Two: if I had known that this would happen, I wouldn't have suggested coming here. And three: none of us mentioned you at all. How they knew you were with us is beyond me!"

The ranger seemed just as confused as the dwarf and then shot over to the mage's neck and trinket she had dangling from a leather cord.

"The claw… The damn claw! Curse it all to the Abyss, how could I forget about that?"

Fenris had been able to get the wound to stop bleeding and had bound it. With his sword in hand, he prepared to move out with the others, but not before glimpsing the movement out in the darkness.

"We don't have time for this," he stated.

Without another moment's hesitation, they slipped out of the land-ship. The ranger supported the semi-conscious mage while he and Varric watched their front and back. The trees provided cover, but he knew that they could also hide the Dalish. His eyes jumped at every movement around them until they began to hurt from the strain. Finally, after what felt like hours and he believed that they had left the Dalish camp behind, he rounded on the ranger. She barely had enough time to set the blood mage on the ground before he grabbed her by the front of her coat and pulled her up to face him.

"This isn't some dispute over deer or even your blood," he nearly growled. "Explain!"

"Fenris, calm down," Varric said as he attempted to pacify him.

"No! I refuse to blindly follow someone just to have them stab me in the back once again."

Her hand reached up to loosely grip his wrist and once more he felt his markings flare to life as they mirrored his rage.

"Fenris, please, this wasn't like that. Yes, it was my fault that this happened, but it wasn't my intention."

"Then what was it?"

"We needed the supplies. It's as simple as that. The clan was the only way in getting them, but I couldn't approach them. They would have killed me on sight, or worse.

"So you send us into a trap!"

"No. I wasn't even certain it was the Artala clan at first, they never come this far south. But I didn't think that you three would rouse their suspicion, especially if Merrill was with you. Can you…put me down? This is rather uncomfortable."

He hadn't realized that he had actually been holding her almost completely off the ground. When he released her, she took a step back from him and rubbed her chest.

"Why would they want to kill you, Falon?" Somehow, the mage had regained enough of her bearings to stand with the aid of her staff. "What could you have done that they would react like this?"

The ranger at least had the decency to not be able to look her in the eye, instead, she stared off into the darkness.

"I…I've tried to make it right. But it was never my place to do so, no matter what I thought."

Before any of them could question Falon's words, the earth beneath their feet exploded around them. The ranger drew her blade, but before she could make a move towards their attackers, a blast of force magic sent her flying into one of the trees to land in a crumpled heap at its base. He readied his sword, but even as he did, he didn't miss the nearly thirty arrows trained on them. Instead of intercepting the closest one, he held back and took in the force before them.

These elves were a far cry from the clan he had encountered on Sundermount. There was an edge to them that was as keen as their arrows. It was a look that he had seen before. This forest had sharpened these elves into true hunters, the kind that do not tire and do not flinch from blood.

After several tense moments of waiting for the snap of bowstrings being released, a lone elf emerged from the throng. He was missing his left ear and had a long scar trailing from the corner of his mouth to the back of his jaw. He looked haggard and aged, but in no way weak. He wore armor like the other hunters and a blade at his side, but in his hands, he carried a staff. He observed them for a moment before finally gesturing towards the fallen ranger that had yet risen.

Two hunters broke from their ranks towards the downed woman. They picked her up by her arms and dragged her towards the scarred elf. Fenris almost made to stop them, but Varric's hand on his arm reminded him that the odds were not in their favor. The scarred elf turned the ranger's head from side to side before dropping her chin and turning his attentions back to them.

"I am Rikesh," he stated, "Keeper of the Artala clan."

The dwarf's eyebrow quirked at that, "You're their Keeper? You look more like their general."

The elf smiled and as he did, the scar running along his jaw deepened, "I suppose many _shemlan_ would agree with you on that. But that is another matter. Tell me, why did you seek out our clan?"

Again, Varric spoke up. He at least seemed the least phased of all of them, and this seemed like the most appropriate moment for the dwarf to practice his skills, "Look, I don't know what has occurred between your clan and Falon-"

"Falon?"

"The woman that you have. The one that you sent flying into the tree just now. Is that not her name?" Merrill asked.

"To many of us, she is simply known as _seth'lin_ for she is not worthy of any other name. However, I am not of a mind to care what she chooses to call herself." Behind him, he heard the mage's sharp intake of breath. He had heard the elvhen words once before, but could not recall their meaning. "Now, answer my question: Why did you approach our camp."

Varric once again spoke for them, "Keeper, this really is a big misunderstanding. We were only here looking for supplies. We thought we could barter with your craftsman. Clearly, we were mistaken."

"Supplies," the Keeper mused.

Varric nodded, "That's all."

"So you say, dwarf." Slowly he turned until finally settling on the mage. "You, what's your name?"

"Merrill."

"Merrill. Of what clan, Merrill?"

"The Sabrae clan."

"I see. Then you have journeyed far. The last I heard of the Sabrae clan, they had crossed the sea in order to seek refuge form the last Blight."

"That is correct, Keeper."

"And do you support what this dwarf has said?"

"Yes, Keeper."

Again the Keeper smiled, "Not many have heard of your clan for some time. However, I was able to learn that you lost your Keeper not more than a year ago." The mage practically froze in place. "Would you also be willing to explain how that unfortunate event occurred?"

"I...I do not…that is to say…my clan has suffered a great tragedy but-"

"Silence!"

The Keeper's seemingly passive air disappeared in less than a heartbeat. Never before had he met an elf that could so easily turn his blood cold. His voice, at first almost amicable now dripped with disdain as his sights roamed from the mage to the ranger and back again.

"Word of your actions has preceded you, Merrill of the Sabrae clan, even though you are worlds apart now," he spat. "Marethari was one of our most treasured Keepers. You should have felt honored to be her First. But not only did she die by both your hands and utter ignorance, but you continue to shame yourself by bringing this into our forest." He gestured to the ranger still unconscious and being held by the two hunters.

"Please, Keeper. Neither Falon nor I are a threat to the People."

"Truly. Then why are you here, why journey so far to this forsaken land and why bring her?"

"She is our guide."

"Your guide to what?"

"Rikesh," a voice feebly croaked. "Rikesh, this matter…is not the same. She did not ask me to seek out...your clan."

"Silence!" he shouted at the ranger before rounded on the mage again, "Tell me girl, why is this one with you?"

"We are searching for the tomb of Fen'Harel. Falon says she knows the way."

For several long moments, the Keeper merely gazed at the mage before chuckling quietly to himself.

"You search for the tomb? And you believe this she will take you there?" Again, the Keeper laughed before turning to the two hunters that still held the ranger. "I suppose it is fitting that one who dwells in the shadow of the Dread Wolf should be the one to take you to that cursed place." He motioned for the hunters to release her and Falon stumbled and fell to her knees. "Take your guide, but we will tolerate you in our forest no longer," the Keeper continued. "You will take the Shadowed Paths and reach the Arbor Wilds through them."

Falon's head snapped up and glared at the Keeper, "Rikesh, she may be Dalish but she doesn't know these lands. She and the others have nothing to do with this."

"Then you should have played your part better as their guide and warned them."

The ranger practically growled and shouted at the Keeper, "_Beidh tú iad a chur chuig gcuid básanna!"_

It sounded like elvhen, but he had never heard the words before or spoken so seamlessly without the usual words of common thrown in. But he did not have time to muse over this very long. As soon as she spouted them, Rikesh struck the ranger with his staff. She hit the ground and for a few seconds she did not move. It was only when her hand gripped the dry earth that Fenris realized that she was not dead. Even from afar, he could see how she struggled to regain her bearings.

"If you wish it, one of you may come and retrieve her." The mage was the first to approach the ranger, but as she neared, Rikesh held out his staff and prevented her from coming any closer. "But before you reclaim your _guide_, there is something you may wish to know. That dagger you carry at your waist, it belongs to the to your guide, does it not?"

"Yes, Keeper."

"Then you should know that nearly twelve years ago, she used that same dagger to kill our First."

* * *

**A/N:** The aggravating thing about having a story with the Dalish in it is the lack of language to go off of, even if it's intentionally supposed to be a broken language. So of course, I improvise. Again, I'm not a linguist, but I'm using old Irish (or what Google Translate lists as Irish) as a substitute.

_Seth'lin _(Thin blood)

_Beidh tú iad a chur chuig gcuid básanna._ (You will send them to their deaths.)

I'm kind of treading on unexplored territory here, so bear with me. Thanks again for reading and reviewing. Bye!


	17. Darkened Pasts

All rights and reserves to their respected owners. Enjoy.

* * *

Whoever destroys a single life is as guilty as though he had destroyed the entire world; and whoever rescues a single life earns as much merit as though he had rescued the entire world.

~The Talmud

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"You're lying," Merrill whispered.

"Watch your tongue, witch!" one of the hunters spat.

"Why would I? I assure you girl, my disdain for her is for more than just that."

Merrill was frozen in place. It felt as if her mind couldn't comprehend what her ears were telling her, but the longer she stared at Falon's form, the colder her insides became. Varric suddenly brushed past her and cautiously approached the Keeper and the hunters before bending down and helping the ranger to her feet. He pulled her arm over his shoulders and without looking any of the elves in the eyes, proceeded to walk Falon back towards them.

"Velldesh," the Keeper suddenly called over his shoulder. A moment later, a hunter appeared at his side. "Give them the supplies they requested."

"Keeper?"

"Do as I said," he ordered and the hunter began to remove several items from his pack as well as from the others. Finally, the Keeper turned back to them, "Know that even if she is not with you in the morning, whether by natural means or your own, you and your companions will take the path we have ordered or you have our whole clan set upon you."

"You know, personally," Varric stated, "I've had worse odds. You should have seen what we went through just to get here."

Falon's hand tightened on his coat and the ranger pushed herself back up on her feet, "Varric…don't. We need to leave."

The dwarf only took a moment to take in the scene before him: the mage that was still reeling from the Keeper's accusation, the pale elf while he attempted to hide the fact he was favoring his bandaged arm, and the ranger who was now barely able to stand on her feet by herself.

Varric turned to the Keeper and slowly nodded his head, "Fine. We'll do as you've said, just make sure there're no stray arrows coming at our backs as we go.

Merrill expected the Keeper to at least glare at them one more time, instead, he merely smirked, "Dwarf, if you had any idea what you will experience on those roads, you would beg for one of our hunters to waste an arrow on you."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

It was still too early for the sun to have made it over the high hills of the valley, and with the moon gone and the canopy too thick for any form of light to pass through, they blindly ran through the forest in what he at least suspected was the general direction of their last camp. However, while he set a pace that even the mage could keep up with, the ranger was uncharacteristically falling behind. Her injuries were becoming a hindrance, yet she was the one that was most adamant that they leave and made no voice for them to slow down. But despite the urge to simply leave her behind, Fenris checked his pace and waited for her and the others at the top of a small ridge.

"Do you think they're still following us," Varric panted when he reached him.

"Without a doubt," Fenris replied flatly.

"So Rikesh was serious in saying he would make sure we wouldn't make a run for it. Kind of makes you wonder what she did."

"We already know what she has done, and now we have to pay for it because of her."

"You really think that's the whole story, elf?"

"What does it matter?" he nearly shouted back at him. "I warned you something like this would happen, now look!"

"So what do you suggest we do now, leave her out here? We do that, and I guarantee you one of those hunters that the Keeper has sent out to keep an eye on us, won't hesitate to finish what Rikesh started."

Fenris was silent, but it was a voice from down the hill that replied, "Perhaps you should."

Fenris and Varric turned at the same time as Falon struggled to climb the hill after the mage. She lost her footing and slid down the leaf covered grass before a tree caught her. Her legs gave out and she fell into the tree's base. The mage almost seemed as if she was contemplating helping her but remained where she stood. Again, it was the dwarf that came to her aid. He held her head up and looked at her ears before tilting her head back to see her eyes.

"Good news is that it doesn't look like your skull is cracked, which I have to say is surprising. That Keeper didn't have any problems holding back."

Falon jerked her chin out of his hand, "Rikesh warned me last time that if he or his clan ever encountered me again, I would regret it. What he did just now was practically a slap on the wrist."

"It's nice to see that despite all the perils that are presented, what with the ever looming threat of starvation, random darkspawn, or vicious animals and demons, leniency and benevolence still have a strong foothold our here."

Falon smirked, but only for a second before the muscles in her face began protesting against it, "You should leave me here."

"What? Leave you behind while we go trapping about in the Shadowed Paths? After all that you've done for us, that hardly seems fair."

"Varric, this is serious. I'm only slowing you down. If you go on without me, you may be able to make it to one of the passes through the Frostbacks. If you're lucky, at least one of them hasn't filled up with snow by now.

"Look, we're not leaving you behind. We're short on arms as it is and if you think that I'll just forget the whole deal with the siren and Halamshiral, then you're shit out of luck. Now get on your feet."

"Varric…I don't think she should come."

All three of them turned to the top of the small hill to the mage. She was clutching herself, but it didn't look like she was trying to ward herself away from the cold.

"Daisy, look-"

"I don't think Falon should come with us. Not until she justifies this," she finally stated without looking up from the ground.

"If you haven't realized by now, our group hasn't had a history of having high standards, Daisy. Void, look at Rivani. She took off the first second she got and left us with a city full of pissed off qunari, and she actually _liked_ most of us."

"This…isn't the same," the mage muttered.

"And how isn't it?" Fenris replied. "You killed your Keeper, she's killed a First; it sounds identical if not for titles."

None of them anticipated what happened next. One moment, he was staring down at the mage, and next, he was on the ground, with a dull pain in his lower jaw, and staring up at the blank, emotionless face of the ranger.

"Killing comes easy to you, I understand that," she panted, "and for me, it comes just as easy. But until your hand is forced and you're stuck with that pain and regret, shut your damn mouth."

The familiar burn of his markings seized him, but he barely recognized it as he rose and grabbed the ranger before any of them could stop him.

"What do you know about pain," he practically growled in her face.

"More than even you could stand to live with."

"Doubtful."

His hand began to glow, but her damned eyes never wavered from his. It was almost as if she was wanted him to do it. And at that moment, nothing seemed more appealing.

"Elf, Fenris, calm down."

"Quiet!" the elf snapped back before turning back to the woman he had in an iron-like grip. But still, she merely stared as if daring him. He had seen this kind of defiance before. It was fearless, borderline reckless, and in spite of everything, it only made his anger for the woman before him burn anew. "I could end this now and despite what the Keeper said, I doubt the hunters would be far pressed to pursue us once they find your body."

"Perhaps, but their disdain for me runs deep enough that they might still come after you because you were with me. You can find out one way or the other."

"You aren't afraid to die?"

"I'm afraid of many things, but not death and certainly not you."

Before he could even flinch, a massive force knocked him over. He felt the lyrium beneath his skin hum painfully but ignored it as his sights settled on the mage clutching her staff at the top of the hill.

"I want to hear what she has to say, Fenris," the mage replied softly.

The ranger's explanations were a far cry from his mind right now and the mage's interference did little to quell his anger, "Why? Because she is the only one that sympathizes with you, blood mage?"

She didn't reply, but kneeled next to the woman that was still on the ground after her spell had knocked the two apart.

"What Keeper Rikesh said was true," the mage stated in a hollow tone. "You did kill their First. Why?"

The ranger did not answer her right away, but after a moment she replied almost solemnly, "Because no one else was either willing or able to."

"Willing?"

Falon closed her eyes, "She was very young but powerful. It was…too much and she didn't know how to defend herself."

Merrill's eyes lit up with realization, "A spirit?"

"An abomination," Fenris replied.

"Her name had been Branwen," Falon stated as she stared off into the shadowed emptiness between the trees.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

It happened several years ago, across the Frostbacks. Even in the early fall, food was becoming scarce and was hard enough to come by that it drove the ranger over the mountains to hunt in unfamiliar territory. It wasn't until after the first snow fall that she had realized she had trespassed onto a forest claimed by the Artala clan. With winter already there and hunger weakening her, the ranger was hard pressed to find other hunting grounds. So she remained, much to the ill-met contempt of the Dalish. They had hounded her when they were able to pick up her tracks and stole her kills whenever possible, but she lingered on. She had only to remain until the end of winter. No longer. But as the nights remained long and the snow refused to melt, the ranger grew weaker and was forced into hiding in an old log buried in a snow bank. After five days of only having snow and moss to eat, she heard the approach of someone walking on the snow bank. The next moment, something fell through the snow right in front of the opening to her log.

It took a few moments for the young elf to realize what she was looking at, but when she did, she scrambled to her feet as she clutched her staff for dear life. But the ranger, too weak and tired, merely gazed at the young girl before laying her head back down on the rotting wood.

"A-Are you hurt?" She only had enough energy to open one of her eyes before closing it again. "I-I can heal you, if your hurt."

"You're a mage?"

"Y-Yes. I'm the First of my clan. I-I'm not very good with magic, but I can heal breaks and sicknesses well enough."

She was very young, perhaps no more than ten summers, but she had bright, brown eyes and black hair that reminded her of a raven's wing.

"You should go," she stated weakly before lying back down. "If your clan comes looking for you, they'll find me as well."

"Are you the human that the hunters have been trying to run off?"

As if mentioning their names had summoned them, several calls were heard off in the distance. The ranger groaned and attempted to rise, but failed. The young First gazed towards the noise and back to the ranger before shoving a small parcel into the log and running off to find the hunters. She opened it to find a day's worth of food, a health poultice, and a stamina drought. For the next few days, the First continued to feed the starving ranger until she was strong enough to hunt on her own again, but every few days, the ranger would wait by the fallen log and the young mage would find her like before. They conversed often, mostly with the young mage asking questions about the lands surrounding the forests and beyond the mountains, and sometimes about magic and healing. This seemed to be the First's favorite topic, even though the ranger stated that she did not possess magic. Still, they would talk for hours before dusk finally forced the young elf back to her camp and hunger forced the hunter to seek her next meal.

One day, the ranger was sitting in one of the fir trees, waiting for the familiar approach of Branwen, but when the young elf entered the clearing, she realized that her face was tear-stained and she was shivering violently. Before she could inquire as to what happened, the tree next to her suddenly erupted in flames. Even with the snow and ice, the fire quickly spread to the surrounding trees. The ranger was forced to jump from her hiding spot just seconds before fire consumed her tree as well.

"No, no, no, please stop!"

Branwen shut her eyes and clutched her head as if to drown out the noise of the fire. The ranger approached her cautiously, but when she was close enough, she placed a hand on the child's head in an almost soothing manner.

"Branwen, you need to calm yourself," the ranger said as tranquilly as she could despite the beginnings of a forest fire at her back. But slowly, the flames abated and soon died out altogether. "Are you alright?"

"No," the girl replied mournfully. "I had done the same thing to two of our aravels just moments ago. What am I going to do? I can't control this," she said as she held up her hands in front of her.

"You can, but you can't be afraid of your power."

"I've had more dreams."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Dark ones. I see things. I think they're spirits. They call to me, promise me things. At first I was too scared to find them, but now…" She sniffled again and turned her head away from the ranger. "Every day seems to be getting worse. What happens if I hurt someone or worse?"

"Have you spoken with your Keeper?"

"He says it will pass…but I'm scared."

"You shouldn't be frightened. Your clan watches out for their own. They will protect you."

"Even from demons?"

"You have to be strong, some-"

"But I'm not strong! I'm weak and they know it. Every night they taunt me," she sobbed again. "How can I be a Keeper for our clan, if I'm not strong enough to control my own magic? The others in the clan, they look at me differently now, as if they fear me."

"Branwen…"

"No," she said and battered her hand away. "You don't have magic, you're not even Dalish or even completely elvhen! How could you understand?"

Before the ranger could console the young mage, she ran off, back into the direction of her clan. Concerned for the girl but knowing that their hunters would be in the area by dusk, the ranger watched the young mage go and hoped that she would find relief with her Keeper.

But she did not return the next day. Nor the next. Nor the one after. Five days went by, but there was no sign of the young mage. And the ranger became restless. She began to wander towards the direction of the clan and as the smell of burning wood and flesh hit her nose, she began to run. Her fears were confirmed when she found the camp: nearly completely destroyed and with at least ten bodies strewn about. Elves were working either to repair the damages or to take care of the dead, but there were far too few hunters. She took to the woods again and picked up their trail. With so many, it was easy to follow. Soon, she was at the base of the Frostbacks just as night took hold of the sky. Above her, she spotted the orange glow of campfires and the shadows as they moved across them. Carefully she made her way up. She maneuvered past the lookouts and towards the small tent set up away from the main group. The ranger eased inside and was not surprised to see the Keeper still awake, almost as if he had been waiting for her. A blood-soaked bandage covered the spot where his left ear had been and partially covered the long cut running down his jaw. Slowly, she took a knee and bowed her head low.

"I knew she had been tending to you," he stated.

"She only did it out of kindness," she replied as she lifted her head.

"Still, it was not her place. Neither is it yours to be here now."

"I know." She remained in the tent and listened as the wind howled against the cold stone of the mountain. "Is it done?"

This time, the Keeper did not raise his eyes to meet her. Instead, he rose and pulled a healing poultice from a bag and began to tend to his weeping wounds.

"We will depart in the morning," he finally stated, though his voice was hollow and emotionless, even to her. "Once the clan is well enough, we will head for the old forests south of the Dales."

"She's still up here, isn't she?"

"What's done is done. I will not burden our hunters with a task such as this."

"And what about the burden that your First is suffering now?" Rikesh's silence only incensed her more. "You can't abandon her. As her clan, it is your duty-"

"Of all of us, what right do you have to lecture me on the duty of my people? She was our First, she was my…." His voice broke and it was then that she realized the true bond that the elf shared with the young girl.

"I'm sorry, Keeper. I can't imagine what you must feel right now, but you are showing her no mercy in doing this."

"You know nothing of what I feel." His fists clenched and he threw the poultice onto the ground to shatter at her feet, "We will do what I believe is right! Now go and be warned: I've told the hunters to shoot you on sight and our archers do not miss their targets."

She lingered only for a moment before leaving. But instead of retreating back down the mountain, she began to climb. By the time she had reached a small outcrop, the trail had gone as cold as her hands and face.

"Who's there? Is that you my friend?"

The small voice was familiar, but it wasn't right. Slowly she turned and even with only a sliver of the moon in the sky, she saw her. She looked tiny compared to the ancient mountain around her, but she knew from experience the power that lay in that small form. The little elf rushed up to meet her, but the ranger took a step back as her hand went to her sword.

"What's wrong? Aren't you glad to see me, my friend?" Her hand trembled on the hilt of her blade but refused to draw it. "Please stop looking at me like that, you're scaring me."

"Stop it," she murmured. "I know you aren't her. There isn't…there isn't anything left, is there?"

The abomination stilled and slowly, the frightened face of the First evaporated as a smug, taunting grin distorted her young features.

"So the Keeper is so unwilling to dirty his hands and the hands of his own that he seeks another to do it?"

"I don't blame the Keeper. I thought I could, but…"

"But who could blame a father from faltering when it comes to slaying his one and only child. He almost went through with it, you know? But you were right, his heart was too weak. He claims to be a leader, but what kind of leader can't make the decisive choices for a clan to live? But you, you are willing to make such a choice, aren't you?"

"Enough. I don't want to hear your vile tongue anymore."

"I admire that, your bravery. Here you are, ready to cut down in cold blood the one that saved you from a slow death, but not only that, you come alone," it drawled. "She cried often for you, you know? Others were frightened of her power and lack of control, but not you. She considered you her only friend, and what did you do when she needed you the most? You abandoned her."

"Shut up."

"You patted her head and then turned your back to her, all the while she was screaming for someone to understand her fears. But I knew her fears. I consoled the child and now-"

The sing of metal being drawn was the demon's only warning. But as quick as the ranger was, the demon still managed to cut into her midsection before her dagger found the heart. Kneeling next the already cool body, she watched as the milky white faded until Branwen's dull, brown eyes were restored. Clutching her side, she picked up the girl with one arm and began her decent. She had only gone a short distance before her head began to swim and she fell to her knees.

She was unsure how much time had passed. A rough kick to her ribs ripped a cry from her, but as she jerked away from the pain, her clothing pulled against the dried blood on her side and reopened her wound, forcing her to cry out again. She saw the boot come once more, but as it neared, someone ordered it to stop. She recognized the owner of that voice, though she was not grateful or relieved to hear it nor was she frightened. She felt hollow. Just empty.

Rikesh kneeled next to Branwen's cold body. Her dagger was still lodged in her chest. She hadn't the strength nor the resolve to pull it out at the time. The Keeper's hand wrapped around the black, leather hilt and yanked it from the girl. Two female hunters grabbed her arms and, uncaring that she was wounded, pulled her to her knees and held her in place. The ranger heard the Keeper's approach, but she couldn't look away from the body. Her once beautiful black hair was now matted and dirty. Her skin was always pale, but now it was white because most of her blood now covered the ranger. Even as the Keeper stood over her, with her own blade pressed to her throat, she was numb.

She had failed just like before. Nothing had changed. How could she have failed so miserably? She closed her eyes and waited for the sting of the dagger.

Instead, she heard the metal clatter on the rock at her knees.

"Release her. I won't grant her the reprieve." She was freed and fell back onto the hard, unforgiving stone. All averted their eyes as they slowly gathered their dead, all but the Keeper. He glared down at her until the last hunter remained. "You…may everything you still hold dear be stripped from you. And as you continue to wander these forests, lost and alone, I pray the Abyss takes you and returns you to where you truly belong. But should I have the deepest disdain of encountering you before that, I will send you there myself. This I swear to you."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He felt some stories were necessary to tell, but no matter how much it needed to be told, some always left a bad taste in your mouth or made the whole room uncomfortable when it was done. He never killed a child before. Sure, they had put down abominations before, and while he was aware that mage children could fall prey to demons, he was grateful for the fact that they hadn't come across any. In the past, he watched as Daisy was forced to pull a knife on her Keeper, and that just about broke the girl. Even now, Falon had not moved from her place on the cold ground with the same vacant expression she had when she first began the story.

The silence that hung over them was becoming stifling, but it was Daisy who spoke up first, "So this, this is the first encounter you've had with the Artala clan since?"

The ranger nodded.

"The cowards should be grateful."

"Fenris! How could you be so indifferent?"

"It's not a matter of indifference. You've said so before, if one of their mages falls prey to a demon, then it's their responsibility to hunt it down and destroy it. If what she says is true, then not only failed in keeping their mage in check, but they failed in enforcing their own laws."

"This was not a matter of a rogue mage turning into an abomination and having the templars come. This was their sister, their First. There was no other choice, and you have no right to judge."

"There is always a choice. In everything!" Falon suddenly shouted. "I just…it shouldn't have had to come to that, not for a child. She deserved more than that."

"Fine, you say there is a choice," Varric stated, "so will you choose now to wait here on your ass for them to come for you, or will you help get us out of this mess that you've gotten all of us in?"

Finally, Falon's eyes rose from the ground to the dwarf. Ever so slowly, that spark in her eyes he had come to respect returned, and with it, the ranger picked herself up onto her unsteady feet.

"The Shadowed Paths are in the crook of two ridges of the Frostbacks that jut out south of here," she stated. "If we don't head there on our own, the Artala clan is going to drive us into it."

"Like sheep into a pen," Varric mused. "So we head west, away from the Frostbacks."

"We do that, then the clan will track us down even if we reach the Arbor Wilds."

"Are you suggesting we head for one of the passes to Ferelden?"

"There's still a chance that they haven't been blocked yet."

"And there is an even greater chance that they have," Fenris stated. "What happens if we do find our way blocked and are then faced with the clan?"

Falon remained silent.

"What is so bad about these paths anyway, not that I'm eager to find out," he asked the ranger.

However, it was the mage that answered, "They are said to be the cursed roads that the Forgotten Ones used to travel to and from the Abyss. When the Forgotten Ones were sealed away by Fen'Harel, dark things were attracted to the ancient evil that still lingered there. They say that those that become lost in the darkness are then claimed by the Dread Wolf."

The ranger sighed and shook her head, "That's just a story, Merrill."

"Then why are you so hesitant to go there?"

"Because, things lurk in those caves, but it isn't some ancient spectral wolf."

"At this point, I don't care if it's an Archdemon having tea with Andraste because I don't want to find out," Varric snapped as he gestured to the ranger. "Falon, what's the shortest way out of here?"

The ranger eyed the trees and then nodded to the east towards the peaks that rose above the tree line, "Do you see that spire amidst the mountaintops? There's a pass that runs beneath it. It'll take us close to the entrance of the Shadowed Path, but the hunters may not catch on until later."

"Alright, so if we run through the night, we might make it by morning."

"Perhaps," the ranger replied.

"Now that a course of action has been decided, let's not waste anymore time discussing it," the warrior stated and began heading for the peaks.

Merrill jogged after him, followed by Varric, but the dwarf stopped short when he realized that the ranger had yet to follow. She was staring up into the sky at the tiny sliver that was left of the moon. Her expression was unreadable to the dwarf, and for a moment, he was reminded of a certain mage that had just realized she had no clan to turn to.

"Falon." The woman was startled awake and seemed surprised that he was there. "Let's go."

It was almost as if she were seeing for the first time, but slowly she nodded her head and ran to rejoin the others.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Her body didn't feel right. Her mind knew what to do, but it was as if it could no longer communicate with her limbs. Again she stumbled on a root she knew was there, but her foot still found it. This time, as she went down, her skull screamed in protest to the sudden impact and she once more had to fight to keep her vision clear. Her eyes never felt so heavy before, but she remembered the last time she had hit her head so severely. She had fallen asleep and when she had awoken, far too much time had passed and she was nearly too weak to get up and find water.

The memory of the blow and the look in Rikesh's eye made her stomach turn anew. She was foolish to think they wouldn't find out she was with them and even more arrogant to think they could traverse through this territory without encountering them. Now, their lives were balanced on the edge of a blade where speed was everything and she could barely run straight.

Again she stumbled, and this time as she caught herself, she was unable to keep the contents of her stomach down. Utterly drained and now plagued with a high pitched ringing in her ears, Falon hoped they would enough sense this time to just leave her.

"Here, open your mouth."

She barely had enough time to react before someone forced her jaw apart and shoved something onto her tongue. The taste alone was enough to make her want to vomit all over again, but a hand was placed over mouth to keep her from spitting it out.

"Just give it a minute to dissolve."

Whatever it was, she could feel it begin to fizzle on her tongue until it became numb, but the horrendous taste was still there. Then slowly, the ringing in her ears stopped, her vision became clear, and the pounding in the back of her head became little more than a dull throb. Merrill dug through the injury kit again and produced a small poultice which she smeared on the large lump under her hair.

Up ahead, she could hear Fenris growing impatient, "We're wasting time."

"I just need a moment," the mage called back. She put the remainder of the salve away and gestured for her to spit the concoction out of her mouth.

"After everything I've told you…why didn't you trust me?"

Her tongue still felt numb, but it wasn't the reason she had trouble voicing her words now.

"It wasn't that I didn't trust you, Merrill. I…have many regrets in my life and after living along and being forced to live with the shame, you sometimes think that if you just forget about it or never speak of it, then you'll eventually forget about it as well."

"That's a horrible way to live Falon."

"Then I hope you never have to know what it's like."

Merrill put away the rest of her supplies and helped the ranger to her feet, "You care for them, don't you? Even though they're not you people."

Falon cringed but it didn't appear as if it were from her wounds as they began to catch up to the others, "When I was younger, it was a sentimental notion, but now…it's little more than a farce."

"Then Varric and Fenris were right, you are half-Dalish." Falon bowed her head under the accusation and kept her feet moving. "Before, when I still believed I could repair the mirror, at one point I thought I had gone too close to the edge. But what frightened me the most was thinking that my friends might not be strong enough or that I might even end up killing them. But to me, what most people don't think is how horrible it would be to exist as a vessel to a demon. No control, no memories, no thoughts, or worse yet you do have them."

The silence that fell over them was heavy and Falon was hard pressed for Merrill to continue, but at the same time desperate for her to finish.

"Rikesh was right in saying it wasn't your place," Merrill stated, "but it wasn't right to leave that girl like they had. At least you were strong enough to see that it was done, and I think she would be grateful for that." Falon felt a twinge in her chest and tried to shut the memory out, but Merrill's words, the guilt, it was all too much. "And what the Keeper said about you lingering in the Dread Wolf's shadow," she practically whispered, "no Keeper should ever bestow such a curse like that, even to someone who is half Dalish."

She wasn't quite sure why such a ridiculous compulsion gripped her, but the ranger suddenly stopped short and pulled the mage to a halt, "Merrill…there is something that you need to know."

"What is it?"

"I…"

A lone howl tore through the night sky. The wolf was close, but the note was weak. Falon instantly recognized it before it was suddenly cut off.

"Was that Freki?" Merrill asked.

Instinct took over and without a word, the woman lunged towards the direction of the howl, but Merrill caught her before she could flee.

"Falon, stop!"

"Let go! They're not just hunting us tonight and I won't abandon him."

"We can't afford to backtrack. We'll never make it to the pass in time."

"Then go!"

"Not unless you come too."

Falon stilled and for the first time, the distress of a pack brother was subdued as the mage stood before her almost pleading with her to follow. She couldn't leave the wolf. She wouldn't. But like so many choices that this group challenged her with, this was one of them. Behind her, the wolf's mournful howl tore at her heart and she almost tried to shut her ears from it.

Suddenly, something flew past the mage's face and left a small red streak across her cheek. Falon shoved her to the ground to avoid the next arrow that missed her head by inches. She pulled Merrill in the thicket and made a mad dash through the trees.

"Fenris and Varric," Merrill shouted over the chaos.

She cursed under breath, but the mage had made her decision for her, "We'll reach them in time."

Falon led them through the darkened copse of the forest. They twisted around trees and thickets like frightened deer, and ran with the knowledge of what happened to such animals that faced the end of a hunter's arrow. Falon then began to alter their course. She backtracked several times, made large loops that contained even smaller ones, and forced them to run on rocks when they could so as to not leave so obvious of tracks. At first, Merrill appeared to be trying to remember the path they were taking, but soon even Falon was hard pressed to know where they were. Eventually, the sound of the hunters faded and with a victorious glint in her eyes, the ranger and mage sprinted off to the east. Falon had only taken a few strides and leaped over a fallen log before vehemently cursing and stumbling away as she pulled out her sword.

"What is it?" Merrill gasped.

"She nearly sliced my tendons," Falon hissed back while eyeing the thicket warily.

Even in the weak light, Merrill was soon able to see what she had nearly stepped on.

"Kirith," Merrill whispered.

Merrill's eyes lingered on the large lacerations along her leg as well as the multitude of small cuts littering the hunter's face and arms, yet despite her wounds her eyes were sharp as was the dagger she held in her hand. Falon sheathed her sword and cursed under her breath, but still made to approach the downed hunter. But the elf merely turned her dagger on her again.

"Get away from me!" she spat. "I don't need your aid or the help of the one that follows you."

Falon took a step back, "You'll bleed out before the others come for you."

"What do you care, it was your foul beast that did this."

"Does she mean Freki?" Merrill asked.

Falon didn't answer. The wolf was young and though not fully grown, he was still an impressive size compared to a mere wolf. His pleasant nature with the others almost made one forget the strength behind those jaws, but the teeth marks were undeniable.

"But I got him before he could end me," the hunter stated triumphantly. "I might not be able to finish the hunt, but the others will track that creature down and finish what I couldn't."

"You boast over a hunt for a creature that is little more than a pup," Falon stated evenly.

"Your _pup_ did this and if it's one of your companions, then I consider it a service to bring the beast down."

Falon could merely stare at the fallen hunter, but already she could hear the approach of others that were farther away only moments before. The wolf had fed well during the short time he had been with them. Some could hope that it would be enough, but she knew it wouldn't.

She turned angrily from the hunter, "Merrill, give her a spare injury kit. We can't linger here any longer."

But the mage was no longer by the fallen log. Instead, she had stepped off to the side and was inspecting a bush with a tiny ball of light that gave off only the faintest of glow. She pressed her fingers to the leaves. When she pulled them back they were stained red.

"Falon, look." She didn't have to. She knew it was there the moment they found Kirith. "He might not be far off." Again she heard the approach of the hunters and again the desire to run to rejoin the others or to race after their lost comrade gripped her. "It's still wet. If we hurry, we may be able to find him and catch up to the others."

"I can't make any promises," Falon replied.

But once more, the mage made her decision for her. Merrill glanced behind them at the approaching noise of the hunters and then dashed off into the thicket. Falon followed her but soon took point once the trail became dark. Eventually, the trail dropped several feet into a dried stream bed. They both crouched down and instantly, Falon went to the opposite muddy bank. There were large gouge marks along its steep surface that made it look as if something had scrambled up the steep bank.

"He must have fallen down and then climbed back out," Merrill stated. "Maybe he isn't as hurt as we thought."

A soft, nearly inaudible whine was her response. Falon and Merrill spun around and watched as the dirt shifted and a large wolf pulled itself free from the dirt and roots of a small hole. Instantly the wolf was on them and soon they were covered in dirt and wolf spit, but Falon didn't care. She embraced Freki's head and held on to him.

"Well done. Well done, Freki," she murmured into his dirty fur.

"_I knew my pack mates would come for me,"_ the young wolf growled as he pressed his head into her chest.

Falon did not reply, but merely stroked his head as Merrill pulled away and immediately began working on the wounds along the wolf's side and legs. Freki whined, but didn't leave their side even when Merrill began to pull out the twigs and leaves that were trapped in his dried cuts.

"Easy," Falon said, "she will be done soon."

_"Please tell her to hurry."_

Falon gave him another reassuring pat before glancing at the wolf's side, "Is it bad, Merrill?"

"It isn't horrible, but it isn't good either." She began pulling rolls of linen from her injury kit and started binding Freki's wounds. "I will do what I can, but they may open up again if we push him too hard."

Falon sighed again, "It can't be helped. We need to press on. We'll have to take care of him properly once we reach safe ground. Until then, you're going to have to bear with us, alright Freki?"

The young wolf growled his understanding. Merrill was done shortly after and the three of them turned towards the west as the noise of looming hunters alerted them that they weren't safe. Falon approached the eastern bank again and sized it up before taking a knee and gesturing to Freki.

"You first," she stated to the wolf as she dropped to all fours. The wolf whined as a reply. "We don't have time. Now get up the bank."

With a low huff, the wolf trotted forward and, using the ranger as a step, jumped up onto the bank. Now thoroughly covered in dry clay and dirt, Falon cupped her hands and nodded to Merrill.

"You're next."

"Uh, right."

She placed her foot in Falon's hands and the next instant was hoisted over the edge. Seconds later, after a few moments of huffing and scrambling, the ranger appeared over the edge of the bank. Without waiting to brush herself off, Falon took off to in the direction of the mountains with the others close on her heels. As they ran, the sky had grown significantly lighter. She pressed them on, hoping that the others had made it ahead of them and not daring to think if they had fallen behind in their mad dash. However, her hopes were shattered as once more luck had abandoned her side.

In her eagerness to rejoin the others, she had nearly burst through the treeline without a second thought. It had been Freki that had saved her. A low growling bark was her only warning before she skidded to a stop and gazed out past the trees. And what she saw made her want to curse. At least a dozen archers, with Rikesh at their front, surrounded the white-haired warrior and the short rogue. What was worse, their backs were pressed against a wall of ice that was nearly forty feet tall.

The pass had been blocked from the start of their insane plan.

Merrill kneeled by her side as she too took in the scene before them, "Did he even intend to let us go?"

"He intended to let us go, but only to the Shadowed Paths," Falon stated without taking her eyes off the group before her. "He knew what we would try to do. Maybe before even we did. The Artala clan is not able to live out here by being stupid."

"_So we go and aid the others," _Freki stated. _"They don't know we're here. We have the advantage."_

Falon slowly shook her head and the wolf growled, "We can't do that."

"_Why not!"_

She didn't reply and the wolf was forced to settle for that. Falon couldn't find it in herself to berate the pup. He was young and impetuous, and while clever, he didn't understand why she balked now.

"We need to think of a way to lure them off," Falon suggested.

Merrill already seemed to know what she intended and quickly disproved of it, "Why do all of your plans involve only you running off while a demon or an angry mob chase after you?"

"Because I'm good at running."

The mage was adamant and shook her head, "The Keeper almost killed you last time. He definitely will if he catches you again."

"Then do you have a better idea?"

"I can attempt to talk and try to reason with them. There has to be a way other than this for everything to end."

"They've already labeled you as a blood mage, Merrill. They aren't going to see anything else."

The hurt on Merrill's face was almost non-existence. It was fleeting, but she saw it and instantly wished she could take it back. But before she could even utter a syllable of an apology, chaos seemed to have exploded beyond the treeline. A slate gray blur barreled into the line of archers. Whether shocked by his sudden appearance, his size, or both, nearly all the archers were slow to respond. Varric and Fenris seized the opportunity, but rather than flee, they unsheathed their weapons. Both sides were about to clash when a massive force knocked nearly the entire field to the ground. Even she and Merrill felt the backlash of the spell.

When she looked up, Rikesh was standing over the elf and dwarf. Both his sword and staff were drawn and glowing ominously in the predawn light. In an instant she felt the cold bite of metal in her hand and before she could stop herself, she was facing the Keeper. His movements were fluid like water and just as gracefully, he turned and intercepted her attack.

In the back of her mind, it was scary how easily it came to her. She swore that she would never bring harm to this clan again, yet here she was, matching his strikes with her own. For some reason, it felt like she had already lost and Rikesh only solidified it with a knowing, victorious glint in his eye. Suddenly, the Keeper lost his footing and instinct compelled her to exploit it. In only a few quick moves, the Keeper was disarmed and she had him on his knees with her blade at his throat.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The darkness of the old catacombs was soothing compared to the brilliant sun and offensive heat that never seemed to loosen its grip on this land. Still, he was finding it difficult to concentrate.

The bleeding of his pets had not been as forthcoming as he anticipated. What he had been able to pull from the last moments of Inshunni's thoughts were entertaining at first. He appeared to have cornered several knights as well as the idiotic Dalish mage and ragged hermit of a ranger. The Void stalker had thrown the ranger around like a rag doll and appeared to have dispatched her before turning his sights on the mage. Inshunni was then struck by one of the ranger's arrows. After that, the beast succumbed to a bloodrage while his thoughts were little more than chaotic patches of hunger, rage, and spite.

No matter. It was not as if he had other means.

Draining the rest of the contents of his cup, he turned to the back of the room where a shallow, brass pan was inlaid into the stone. It was wide, at least the size of a bathing basin, but shallow enough that it would barely reach his ankles if he decided to fill it completely.

He reached over to a small table where two silver pitchers stood ready. The first sloshed as he picked it up and dumped the murky, frothy liquid into the basin. When the last drop fell, he reached over to the second and poured its thick contents into the basin as well. When the red blood mixed with the mage's concoction, he watched in silent satisfaction as the liquids began to churn and mix themselves.

It was a process he knew well and could complete in his sleep if it didn't require so much harvesting of ingredients on his part. However, it was temperamental and not wholly reliable in the past. But due to certain…events, he was confident that he could produce the results.

For any other being, scrying was quite easy. However, the elf was always difficult to pin down, especially from great distances. Another trait of the lyrium he and Denarius had not anticipated. Yet for some reason, he was having a great deal more difficulty in summoning an image than ever before.

Kiol leaned over the bubbling surface. Nothing could be discerned. Not even the other sputtering whelps that were accompanying him. The mage couldn't even pull up an image of their surroundings.

"This should not be happening."

He had heard stories of the simpering mage that was with them. She was a fool playing with fire who only managed to survive this long thanks to a dog lord mage that saw her slightly more useful than the trouble she was worth. Perhaps she had dabbled in more blood magic, but even if that were so, she should not be able to interfere to this degree.

Even thinking of the Dalish rat caused his teeth to gnash. The entire lot of them were pathetic. He couldn't understand how they had managed to survive for as long as they have, not while still praying to beings who, for every intent and purposes, were deaf, dumb, and blind to all their woes. For all their boasting and false pride, they were no more different than the prattle that were bought and sold on the streets of Minrathos. Not even their mages were significantly interesting. Still, he did find entertainment breaking them in whenever slavers were lucky enough to catch a few stray hunters. It was one of the few joys he drew from their kind.

He focused his attentions back to the basin, and while enough time had passed, there was still no distinct difference from before.

"What is this?" he growled under his breath. "That forest should not cause this much interference. Its mind is all but lost now."

The bloodmage hissed under his breath as he focused more of his magic into the blood and water, but still, the image would not appear before him. The water began to churn and bubble as it began to heat. Still, Kiol forced his magic to yield something. Realizing it would not be enough, he returned to his work table and retrieved a small, silver knife. Holding his arm over the still churning water, he slide the blade over his wrist and hungrily watched the dark red substance spill from his vein into the waters. The instant his blood hit the surface, the entire pool stilled and the mage could see his visage upon its glassy surface.

"Now show me."

Seconds ticked by with nothing but the flickering of the nearby candles. And then, cracks began to erupt along the water as if it were solid ice. The cracking became sharp, almost like high pitched screams, and soon, the entire surface of the pool began to enfold on itself. The waters suddenly erupted before the mage and became a swirling mass of black vapor and water. Throughout all of this, the screaming did not desist, but rather grew in volume. And just as abruptly as it had started, the screams were cut short as the black water and mist crashed back into the bronze basin and moved no more.

Kiol continued gasping on the ground as he held his wrist. The residue of the dark magic still clung to the air as it slowly dissipated, but despite his prodding, the effect was all for show. Clearly, he had not realized just what it was he was disturbing, but after his enlightenment, he began to chuckle softly to himself.

Behind him, Inrhada growled and continued to glare at the bronze basin as the water and blood began to evaporate.

"_It is a sign, mater. They stray from their intended path. If nothing is done, we could lose him. Should we not retrieve the prize before it is too late?"_

"Even we know where not to tread, my pet. Still, this should prove interesting."

"_Master?"_

Kiol chuckled as he licked at the open wound on his wrist while he began to circle the basin.

"I chose him not because of his strength alone," Kiol mused as he watched the remaining strands of shadows begin to dissipate. "I chose him because of his tenacity, his hunger, his need to survive, his penchant for hate, but most of all…his desire for power. It already grows within him." Looking from the basin to his Void stalker pet, his lips pulled back to reveal white teeth stained red with fresh blood, "What better way to cultivate such a spark than by submitting it to a trial of darkness?"


	18. The Shadowed Paths

Bioware owns the rights, I own the right to run with the ideas.

* * *

Loyalty means nothing unless it has at its heart the absolute principle of self-sacrifice.

~Woodrow T. Wilson

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

How many times had he stood at the abyss and stared into the oblivion that only death promised? How many times had he been ready to accept the cold finality of death, only to be snatched away from the brink in one decisive moment? Far too many times for him to proudly admit. But now, as he stood before a line of hardened archers with their leader at the mercy of the ranger, he held no false hopes of victory. The Dalish did not flinch as Rikesh fell to his knees and did not take their sights off them even as she pressed her knife into the mage's throat.

Fenris tightened his grip on his sword, "Tell them to drop their weapons."

"I would rather die and so would they," the mage replied with enough pride that the warrior was surprised he did not choke on it.

The ranger had been unmoving as soon as she had disarmed the mage. She almost appeared stunned by what had happened, but it was her hands and eyes that gave her away. Her blade was as still as the stones around them, but her other hand trembled uncontrollably while her eyes darted from the dagger, to Rikesh, and finally the archers before them.

In a voice that was barely audible to even him, she whispered, "It doesn't have to be this way, Keeper."

"Yes. It does," he spat. "Are you prepared to kill me as you did Branwen?"

She trembled again, only this time her entire body quaked, "I did what had to be done. It brought me no joy in doing it."

"It should have never been your place to do it! She was my First, my flesh and blood. You had no right to take her from me. If you wish to fight your fate, then you must be prepared to kill not only me, but all of us."

"Falon stop." The ranger looked up with what he could only describe as relief when the blood mage appeared from the forest. She made to join them, but the hunters had reformed their line and refused to let her past. A few of them trained their arrows on her, yet she either did not notice them or chose not to. "Keeper, we will go, just…please stop all this."

"Are you insane?" the warrior shouted.

"I can't fight against them, Fenris. Not my own people," the mage stated as she watched Rikesh's form kneeling on the hard ground.

Sensing that the ranger was faltering, he shouted back, "So we meekly walk into the unknown? You have him as your prisoner, force him to let us go! We are not throwing our lives away like this!"

Her hand trembled again, but this time she hid it poorly. This was the same woman, the one whose breathing was now becoming erratic and her eyes held the panic of a cornered animal, who had faced down slavers, assassins, monsters, and even a demon. Yet when faced with a mere elf, she stood terrified. At this point, he was unsure if it was merely fear that gripped her.

"Please. Don't make me do this. If it was only me, then the decision would be easy, but it isn't." Her voice sounded so frail and it brought on some of his darker memories. Memories of how he stood before another clan only it was just in his mind as he pleaded for someone to stay his hand while another part of his mind forced his body to carry out the order without so much as a pause. "I'm begging you, don't make me fight them. It was…hard enough having to kill that girl, and there was nothing left of her. Don't force me to do the as well."

He could only stare at her for a few moments before replying in a detached, almost hollow voice, "You're beseeching me to simply walk into a cavern that could very well hold our deaths rather than force the mage to let us live?"

She dropped her head, almost as if ashamed, "If there was any other way, I would take it. But not this. I can't do this."

His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, the sword that he had taken from one of the first slavers that had hunted him when he escaped the ship. It was the same weapon he used the night she had found him in the wilderness. It was an ungarnished sword of common make and value. And even when the dwarf offered to replace it, he kept it. He did not know why he chose to keep a sword that had been wielded by a slave hunter. It had been returned to him by the ranger at the dwarf's bequest, but ever since, it had never left his side. He had learned early on what trust and loyalty were. They were convictions held only for one's blade and the strength you put behind each swing. No one else.

Only when she turned to him and finally met his gaze did she whisper, "Do you want for me to get on my knees and beg, Fenris?"

No. No, he didn't want that.

He wanted to survive. He wanted to run and keep running because at this point, it was the only thing he could trust in. That, and his sword, and if these elves held a part of her past that she couldn't escape from, than he couldn't or refused to understand why she wouldn't run as well. Even now he could see the fear and uncertainty that gripped her and all over a mage that they had been too weak or misguided to control.

But despite his trepidation, his fear, and distrust, another part of him, one that he had thought had long since abandoned him the day he was thrown back to Denarius, called to him. He wanted to stifle and silence it once and for all, for it had served him poorly in the past, but as he looked down at the ranger, for all his strength and anger and hate, he was unable to banish it. With a defeated sigh that came out almost like a growl, he sheathed his sword.

And with that gesture, it was as if he had made some unspoken command. Instantly, the ranger released the Keeper and distanced herself. The blood mage was allowed to go to them and the damnable fool of a mage had the gall to actually look relieved and almost happy with the turn of events.

"Better that one loses instead both," the dwarf stated as he put his crossbow onto his back.

The warrior held back a sharp retort when he noticed that the Keeper had retrieved his weapons and was now facing the ranger. For a moment, he was sure that the clan would not even give them the chance of their damnable Shadowed Paths and waited for the hammer to fall. Even the ranger seemed resigned to the same notion as she stood meekly before them almost like an animal ready for slaughter. Yet the command did not come. Instead, the Keeper merely nodded his head towards the south. Without a word, she began walking into the direction he had indicated and with no other choice, the rest of them followed.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"Hopefully, when the darkness consumes you, it will bring about a quick end to your companions."

For a moment, he doubted she had even heard the Keeper. The ranger was silent as she stood far from the entrance of the cavern and stared into the perpetual darkness. He spared a glance up the steep incline that they had practically been shoved down and the entrance to the cave that was now far above them. To call it a cave was a courtesy, for in all intentions and purposes, it was more like a pit. The sharp edges of the stone made grasping onto them painful and their slick, glassy surface made it almost impossible to gain a footing. On their way down, the mage had nearly broken her neck if not for the dwarf and ranger's quick reflexes. Perhaps with enough rope and an adequate amount of skill, a small group could be able to pull themselves out of this hole but he doubted they had either.

From what little light still reached them, he was able to make out the same sharply-cut, black stone as the light bounced off its glassy surface. As they walked, their steps made sharp raps on the stone that reminded him of the marble flooring in the more lavish estates back in Tevinter.

"Hey, I know you're basically sending us to our doom, but could you perhaps spare us a few torches, that way we can be sure to recognize the Dread Wolf when we see him."

"Varric!"

"What? It was a joke," the dwarf replied flippantly to the mage. There was murmuring up above and then three objects were sent tumbling down to them. "Thanks," the dwarf called back up.

In a few seconds, the mage had lit the torches, but the ranger had already gone ahead. The firelight danced off her the back of her cloak and the wolf's dark fur as thy stood on what appeared to be a ledge no more than a few paces from where they had all been standing.

"How long do you think they are going to be guarding that spot?" Varric scoffed.

"However ever long it takes for whatever monster they believe resides in here to eat us, I suppose," the warrior replied.

"Have I mentioned how much of a joy it is to have you around recently?"

"Is that in reference to me being right again or is that just simply another jibe at my so-called broodiness?"

"A little bit of both to be honest." The elf shook his head dismissively and continued on. "I said I was being honest," he said with a shrug.

They stood near the ledge that the ranger was at, but even with the torchlight, they could barely make out anything, not even a path that would lead them from where they were now. Yet the ranger's eyes continued to roam over the abyss while she worked a piece of cloth into the opening of what looked like a glass bottle.

"So besides the unknown evil that is supposed to lurk down here, what else is so horrible about this place? I mean, it's not like we haven't faced scary, undiscovered tunnels before, and if you go by the map and we move at a steady pace, we might actually be able to shave a week or two off our journey."

She didn't reply as she finished stuffing the cloth into the bottle and held it out to the mage, "Merrill, can you light this for me?"

Without a word, the mage lit the piece of cloth. The ranger brought her arm back and then threw the small flask over the edge. The glass shattered on the rock several paces out and instantly the cavern was awashed in the orange light when the liquid inside was ignited. For several seconds the concoction burned long enough for them to see just what lay in store for them. Multitudes of stone paths littered the cavern. They were no wider than for maybe two large humans to walk abreast and beyond their edge there was nothing but a fathomless drop into the empty darkness. The paths swirled and intertwined and led off into to the point where the firelight did not reach. In some places, he could see how a path doubled back on itself. In others, he believed he followed it only for it to lead him back where he started.

"Blessed Creators. It's a maze of stone and shadows," Merrill whispered.

"That looks like a long way down," Varric mused.

"I was told that it is only like this through the first half. If we can find our way through at least this, we can make it out of here."

"And after that?" the dwarf asked. The ranger merely shrugged. "Well, that's comforting."

Varric held his torch up as he began leading them down into the maze of stone paths with the ranger and the wolf bringing up the rear. He eyed her every now and then, but she continued to have a distant look about her as she searched the encroaching darkness around them.

Something was off about her. Before now, her aloof behaviour didn't seem to provoke much of a response. In the safety of her trees, she was surefooted and seemingly aware of everything that was going on around them. However, now she seemed no different than when she held the Keeper at bay: fearful, nervous, apprehensive. It was sure to poison the rest of them within a few days.

With the dwarf on point, he led them down the winding paths until they could no longer even see the open tunnel where they had entered. The farther they descended, the smoother the stone became, but it never lost the same mirror like surface. The dancing light from their torches were causes his eyes to play tricks on him every time he saw his reflection in the stone. At one point, it was almost as if he were seeing eyes peering at him from around every corner.

He was so preoccupied by their surroundings that he hadn't realized that they were stopping for the night. Somehow, the dwarf had found their way through the twisting walkways to one of the cavern's walls where the path split off into tunnels in multiple directions. He forgot how time seemed to flow differently underground, but the fatigue in his feet quickly reminded him. He went through the movements of quickly establishing a crude campsite with the others, but his mind was not there. When they were done, Varric produced a small oil lamp which served as their fire that he and the mage quickly huddled around, but the ranger was noticeably absent. He found her just on the edge of the lamplight with a large mass huddled next to her. Apparently, they had already decided who would take first watch. He left her there and took his ration of dried meat and bread when the dwarf offered it to him. They sat in the silence with only the soft hiss of the lamp and the noise of their eating until it appeared too much for the blood mage.

"Varric, were the Deeproads anything like this?"

"For our sake, let's hope not."

"You never really spoke much about it. I mean, we all knew what happened, and Hawke went down there several times, but what was it really like?"

"Are you asking about the weeks stumbling around Darkspawn infested tunnels or the part about Hawke having to kill her own brother?" the elf snapped.

"Elf, lighten up. It's going to be long enough down here without you putting those kinds of things in her head," Varric said before turning back to the mage. "To be honest Daisy, I don't know. I don't even know Hawke's logic for dragging me down into the Deeproads for a second time when he had to retrieve those dwarf brothers. You have to remember, you're speaking to a dwarf with a head for business and no stone sense."

"Why are you even asking him?" Fenris asked as he finished what was left of his meagre meal. "You should be asking the one that forced us to come down here."

Ignoring Fenris, Merrill asked, "Does your map say anything about this place?"

"No, and trust me, I've looked. But all roads have to lead somewhere right? And from what we saw back there, we have a lot to choose from. Our best bet: find one that works its way up."

"What about...well the stories?"

Fenris scoffed, "They were probably speaking of Darkspawn. It's nothing we haven't encountered before."

"What if it isn't?"

"Then the same rules would still generally apply, wouldn't they?"

Varric interjected and threw the mage a small parcel of food, "Here, Daisy, go give that to our two watchdogs so they don't start getting snappy from hunger."

The mage took the parcel, but not before giving Fenris a rather pointed look. When she was out of earshot, the dwarf sighed heavily before finally turning to him.

"When you're done brooding and that temper of yours finally gets the better of you, try to go easy on her."

"Are you seriously suggesting that she is not to blame in this?"

"Come on, elf, this isn't new for us: Hawke drags us somewhere, things turn to shit, we think we're in over our head, we find a way out. This isn't our first run and I'm sure as the Void not going to make it my last."

"Why do you trust her so much? So far, she's sold us out to a group of insane elves and before that-"

"You aren't suggesting that she was the reason that Void stalker showed up, are you? You and I are smart enough to know why that charming creature came to pay us a visit."

"You think its coincidence?"

"Yes. But that bastard told you he was with Denarius. Void, he didn't even know Falon's name. As for the elves, well it's not like we all don't have something we're not too proud to bring to light."

"Before, you said that we would watch out for one another this time. Do I still have your word on that or not?"

"Elf, Fenris, my name might mean dirt back in Kirkwall now, but I still have some pride left. Tell you what, if you think I'm doing a shitty job, then you can take Bianca and whack me over the head with her." The dwarf put on one of his most charming smiles, but it was all in vain. To be honest he was surprised the little merchant would even think that would work on him. "Look, she's had ample opportunity to jump ship, but so far, for some reason, she hasn't. What those reasons are, I'm optimistic enough to think they are well intended. If they aren't, you're paranoid for the both of us to spot it before we find ourselves with a blade to our throats. Personally, I think she just..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Dwarf."

"You know how sometimes you meet someone and for some reason you just don't like them right away? Well, not in your case since you're not so much the social butterfly and you just generally hate everyone at first."

"If you're trying to make some point, make it now," he practically growled.

"All I'm saying is that some people tend to have grudges against others that are very similar to them. And Falon and you...you have similar ways."

"Such as?"

"I don't know, maybe it's the fact that both of you bristle whenever you're in a crowded room, or the fact that you both have that broody, pondering thing going on. Trust me, you didn't see her at the Hanged Man. After three days, the dock workers avoided her like the Blight. Long story short, she's you with a pair of breasts, a smaller blade, somewhat pleasant social skills, and a better sense of humour." Varric chuckled, but the elf only glared at him from across the lantern. "It's a joke, Broody."

"Not one of your better ones."

"Yes, well, I work with what I got."

"You still haven't answered my question dwarf," Fenris replied.

Varric sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "You know, if you placed half as much confidence in me that I have for you, I bet you'd sleep ten times better."

He didn't know if the dwarf expected him to chuckle at his humour or be gracious for the comment. Instead, Fenris let the remark fade into silence.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"He's lucky, isn't he?"

Falon tore her attention away from the two at the lantern and back to Merrill and Freki, "Who?"

"Freki," Merrill gestured, "if his wounds had been any deeper, then he might have lost too much blood. I don't even see a trace of infection setting in."

"He has strong blood," Falon mused as she rubbed the wolf's shoulder soothingly.

The gray wolf sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Despite all his bravado and endurance, she could tell he was more than happy to finally stop and rest. Even Merrill could see how exhausted the young wolf was, and began to scratch behind his ears, much to Freki's delight.

"I have some poultices left. Would you like me to give him some?" the elf asked.

"Maybe one, just to make sure that an infection doesn't take hold. We can't afford to be wasteful since we don't know how long we're going to be down here."

"Alright, let me just...here," Merrill pulled out a small cordial. "This might sting somewhat."

As soon as the substance made contact with his skin, the wolf let out a sharp growl, but was held back by Falon's arm wrapped gently but securely around his neck.

"_It bites and burns,"_ he growled.

"Leave it be. That means it's working."

The wolf gave a disgruntle growl as he laid his head on his paws, but he did not move after.

"There, I'm done," she finally announced. She smoothed a few patches of fur that had been ruffled before placing a few loose bandages over the larger cuts on the wolf's side. When she was done, she stared at the wolf's flank.

_"The First will not look at me directly. Have I offended her?"_

"Merrill? What's wrong?"

"Does he...can he understand us?"

"Yes, for the most part. Some words and phrases are over his head, but he's smart enough to figure them out."

"Then does he know that we, or I, almost...abandoned him?"

Freki opened his eyes and turned towards the little mage. He growled low and ended it with a short whine before gently wagging his tail.

_"I should not have left you in the first place. But I knew the pack was stronger together, so I ran to retrieve our hunter. When she went into the camp, I could smell the elvhen hunters approaching and thought to lure them away."_

"He doesn't blame you, Merrill. He left to go get me when you were taken by the Dalish. I was the one that told him to stay in the trees when I came for you. I didn't know that Rikesh and his hunters were so close."

_"Besides, better the pack survives than many hunters are lost for one."_

Falon's gaze became hard on the young wolf, but he did not look up at her.

"What did he say?"

"Just some nonsense that you would expect from a young and stupid wolf."

Freki growled again.

"I don't think that's what he said," Merrill replied as she glanced up from the wolf to Falon.

"No, but the point is that you shouldn't worry over what happened. We made it out and we didn't lose anyone."

Merrill sighed and placed a hand on Freki's head; the wolf looked up into her face as he watched her intently, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Freki. Falon was adamant about going back for you, and because of me, she almost didn't. Next time, I'll be the first one that comes after you."

Freki met Merrill's gaze and then, he leaned over and placed his head in Merrill's lap. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

"He forgives you," Fallon added redundantly. Merrill smiled for the first time since they been down here, but was soon replaced by a rather large yawn. "You should take him with you to your bedroll. The both of you look too haggard to walk."

"_I'm alright,"_ Freki growled as he picked his head back up.

Falon shoved him away and back towards Merrill, "Just go to sleep. I'm tired too, and arguing is just going to make me even more tired."

_"Fine."_

Freki rose to his feet with the mage as she quietly replied, "Goodnight, Falon."

She watched them return to the light of the lantern and Merrill's bedroll. The others also appeared to have turned in for the night, except Fenris's deep breathing was too erratic for him to be sleeping.

Falon didn't remark on it, but instead turned her sights back onto her watch. Even with the others only a few feet away, the darkness seemed to isolate everything. In the forest, there were nights when light was a far off luxury and not even the moon or stars could pierce the canopy. Even knowing that, she still felt safe, protected even. She had spent her life living in the safety of the trees and their shadows, so the night held few dangers or surprises for her. But the darkness that surrounded them now...

It felt cold, hollow, and dead. It was like life altogether was something scorned here. She could feel it on her skin and made her hair stand on end. Not for the first time did she ultimately regret forcing the others to come down here. No more than a couple hours must have passed as she sat in the looming darkness. Eventually, she heard his nearly silent approach before appearing on her right and then standing before her. Without a word, she rose and made to head to the others now that the elf had taken over her watch. But before she could even make it a few steps, he called out to her.

"He was at our mercy," he stated simply. "He was our prisoner and yet you refused to force him to let us go."

"The will and pride of the Artala clan is second only to Rikesh's. They wouldn't have backed down and would have fought to the last elf."

"So their lives are more worthy than our own as well as yours."

"I didn't say that."

"Then explain yourself."

"What would you have me do, kill them for wanting retribution or for defending some pathetic piece of land?"

"Do you think it fair that we are to suffer for your own actions?"

She couldn't look him in the eye at first, but instead stared out into the blackness surrounding them, "The irony of this life is that it can be so easily taken away, but not given back." Falon brought her eyes back up to meet his, but she still felt hollow and cold inside when she gazed upon him, "Make no mistake, if it would have come to that, I would have fought. But whatever you think of me, Fenris, know that I am grateful that you did no force my hand."

It was so quick, she wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light, but a shadow suddenly fell across Fenris's features. His eyes took on a distant look while his body grew tense. A feeble, nearly indistinguishable glow appeared on his neck and arms, but what caught her attention was the shift in the air. He was staring right at her, but she could tell that he wasn't seeing her.

"Fenris?" He did not respond, but kept the same vacant expression. "Fenris." The elf finally seemed to pull himself out of whatever memory he had immersed himself in. "Are you alright?"

He blinked several times as if he did not fully recognize her before shrugging off her question with a dismissive gesture, "Why would you want to protect them? They scorn and despise you. Of all the people to show loyalty to, why them?"

"Loyalty is more than just words or bonds in blood. They aren't my people, perhaps they never will be, but that doesn't mean that I don't respect them and their ancestors."

The warrior scoffed at her response and shook his head, "You are more like the blood mage than I first realized. You both chase ghosts and the impossible 'what if's' that you forget the dangers that you pose to others in the here and now."

"You think it's wrong to want to remember or reclaim what has been lost?"

"If it was really so important, then why was it so easily forgotten?"

"Why is anything forgotten? Maybe the shame is too much to live with."

"You're speaking in riddles now."

"It's not my intention. The forest…it holds many memories for me, and unlike Merrill, it is a place that I would willingly forget if I could."

"Yet here you are, guiding us through it."

"Yes. A deal was made, and while I still have regrets about it, I intend to see this through."

"You speak of regret as if you have made them often. It makes someone wonder just how many you have other than the Artala clan."

"Does it really matter?"

"The last one nearly killed us and is why we are here now." She answered his remark with weighty silence. "You know these forests, this land, and in the beginning you were reluctant to cross the water. If this is truly the land you hail from, then why were you in those forests near Kirkwall that night?"

A spike of ire rose up in her as she regarded the elf, but despite his ever insistent questions, she stifled it.

"You of all people should know what it's like to run from your past," she replied. "It doesn't matter how far you go or how long you run. You can never truly be rid of it. The fact that Rikesh discovered me and I'm now returning to the Arbor Wilds is evidence enough."

"Fine, keep your secrets," he all but growled, "but what do you expect us to do now? These tunnels could stretch the length of the mountains and you wouldn't be disturbed now if there wasn't a reason."

"It's like Varric, said: All roads lead somewhere. These are no different."

The elf's eyes narrowed on her, "You were listening."

The ranger shrugged, "It was hard not to."

She waited for another one of his heated retorts, but none came. There was still a hard look in his eyes, and for a moment she thought he had drifted off again. Too late did she realize what she was hearing.

"We're surrounded!" Fenris pulled out his sword and ran back to the others with Falon right on his heels. She could hear their sharp hisses and cackling laughter as they moved through the shadows just beyond the edge of their sight. "Dwarf, get on your feet!"

But it wasn't Varric she was worried about. Freki was on his side next to Merrill's empty bedroll and growling softly as he struggled to rise. Falon could only spare a few seconds to make sure the wolf was still intact before racing down one of the tunnels after the kidnapped mage.

Varric called after her, but she didn't stop. The feeble glow of the mushrooms lining the cavern kept her from tripping over her own feet in the dark, but she was forced to come to a halt when she came to a fork. Seconds later, Varric, Freki, and Fenris had caught up to her.

"Damn it!" Varric cursed. "What in the Void is going on? What took Daisy?"

"Vardøger."

"Var-what?"

"Vardøger. Shadlings that live in the dark corners of this world. They can only exist in shadows and are lured by magic."

Fenris scrutinized the black rock around him, "You sure these aren't just darkspawn?"

"Darkspawn make far too much noise, and these things sneaked up on us while we were _both_ on watch."

"Alright, so now that we know what we're dealing with, which way?" Varric asked.

Falon stared down one tunnel and then the next before turning back to the first, "This one."

"How do you know?"

Falon stilled as she entered the mouth of the cave, "Freki can smell her." Varric glanced at the wolf still standing by his side and then back at the ranger several feet in front of him. "Come on," she insisted, "we can't lose anymore ground."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

When the ranger had been quick to pick up Daisy's trail, he had been hopeful. But when the tunnel kept going and there was still no sign of their mage, Varric began to get nervous. Seconds turned into minutes, and still he couldn't hear or see any sign of Daisy. At that point, he was almost afraid to voice what was most definitely on all of their minds.

"These...demons," Fenris asked, "how much of a danger do they pose?"

"Enough for us to have the foresight to have avoided them while down here."

"Then the mage..."

"They won't kill her," Falon reassured him.

"Why are you so sure of that?" Varric asked.

"Because she's a mage," Falon stated in a matter-of-fact manner. "They're not...wasteful." The ranger must have picked up on their silence and added, "They feed off of mortal blood. The more magic, the more potent and sustaining it is for them."

Varric felt his blood turn cold, "So these things..." Falon remained silent. "Shit."

"So there's a chance she is still alive," the warrior stated.

"If we can find her in this maze."

"The wolf, I mean Freki," Varric called out, "can't he sniff her out like before?"

Before Falon could reply, a thunderous boom shook the tunnel. The three of them readied their weapons and ran towards an opening that branched off from the main tunnel. They only went a short ways before he noticed the abrupt absent of the luminescent mushrooms. Falon forced them to a halt when they suddenly found them in the pitch blackness, but as soon as they stopped, a pillar of fire erupted in front of them and lit the entire chamber up with bright orange light. He had to shield his eyes away from the intense light, but he still caught her silhouette at the center of the inferno...along with what looked like thirty or forty spindly shadows that hissed and recoiled away from the fire. But just as quickly as the fire appeared, it died out to only a few smouldering embers.

Varric was the first to rush into the fray, "Hurry, they'll gang up on her if we don't get down there!"

His stout legs vaulted him over the rocks and down into the chamber. The others were close behind him, and once they reached the mage, Falon tore off her rucksack and began digging in it while Fenris and the wolf continued to watch the shadows. It wasn't until they had gotten close that he realized why the ranger was so adamant about pulling out bandages and poultices.

"Damn it. Did those things-"

"Just put your hand over it so she doesn't lose anymore blood," Falon shot back as shoved a roll of bandages into his hand.

Daisy was panting heavily, either from the exertion of her magic, or the fight, or perhaps from the gaping wound on her neck. Her hand was pressed into her throat and covered in blood. Varric quickly took the bandages and pulled her hand away so he could press them into the wound.

"It...isn't that bad," Merrill wheezed. "I'm just...a little...shaken. But if we can...get to it...we can use..."

"Daisy, just calm down so we can get you out of here," Varric huffed. "You want to hurry it up there, Falon?"

The ranger ignored him and was soon kneeling next to him with some kind of powered mixture. She looked at the wound and grimaced.

"At least they didn't hit your jugular. I'm going to press this into your neck to close it quickly. This...isn't going to feel good."

"Whatever you're going to do, do it now," Fenris shot over his shoulder. "I think the blood is attracting them."

Varric glanced off beyond the small circle of embers and could see multitudes of glowing eyes reflecting off the feeble light. Falon must have seen it too. She pushed his hand away and pressed the powdered mixture into Daisy's neck. The little mage screamed and convulsed as the ranger pinned her down. At one point, Varric thought the woman was killing the First and was hard pressed not to shove the ranger off her. But after a few tumultuous seconds, the mage finally stilled.

"Merrill?" Falon shook the mage a little. "Merrill?"

"I'm...fine," she replied hoarsely. "But...if you don't mind...I can't breathe."

"Huh? Oh, right!" The ranger quickly scrambled off the mage while Varric helped her up. Daisy was shaky, either from being carried off or the ranger's medicine, but she didn't look as pale or out of it as she had only a little while ago.

"If you can stand, Daisy, I think it best if we leave now."

"I second the motion," Falon said as she threw her rucksack back on and loosened her sword.

"I don't think it's going to be that easy. While you were tending the mage, they've surrounded us again," Fenris replied.

Sure enough, he glanced back and was met with nearly three times as many eyes as before, but this time, they were getting bolder. He thought he actually saw one take a swipe at the ember circle.

"This is not good," Varric mused. "Maybe if Daisy can summon up one more spell, she can blow a path through them. Then we make a mad dash."

Falon unsheathed her sword, "That's a lot emphasis on an _if_, Varric. But I don't suppose anyone else has an idea?"

No one said anything as they focused on the ember circle and the shifting shadows behind it. "I'll take that as a no," Varric stated. "What do you say, Daisy? Do you think you're up for it? Daisy?" A loud, hissing chortle erupted from the darkness. The shadows began to shift and move and too late did he realize that the elf was gone, "Damn, did they snatch her again?"

Falon joined him as they frantically searched the darkness, but when she looked behind him, her body froze and her eyes seemed to double in size, "Freki, stop her!"

The dire wolf shot off like an arrow into the shadows with the ranger sprinting after him. Even Fenris almost ran after them, but balked once they stepped over the ember line.

"What the...are you insane?!" the warrior shouted after them

But there was no response as they too disappeared. There was a moment where he could hear the savage growling of the wolf and the occasional swing of a sword.

"Merrill, get away from it!" Falon's voice seemed far away and strained.

Varric turned to Fenris who was clearly at odds as much as he was, "You know we can't leave them."

"_Vashadan,"_ Fenris cursed as he spat on the ground, "That damn mage and ranger will be the death of all of us."

Without another word, they charged in after them. They hadn't gone more than two steps until Varric felt something with long, spindle fingers tapered with sharp claws wrap around his ankle and pull him to the ground. Whatever it was, its skin was the exact same shade as the surrounding rocks, so even when he could feel its putrid breath in his face, he still couldn't make out the creature from the surrounding blackness.

Then he felt it, even with his dwarven blood. It was just like before, when Daisy had summoned the fire. The very air seemed to come to life and the chamber was suddenly filled with light. The creature released him and screamed, but Varric didn't see it. The light coming from the chamber was so intense that even he couldn't stand it. He could hear Falon's gasp, Freki's low growling, and Fenris startled curses.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, the chamber was no longer dark. The shadow creatures had all but vanished or been driven off. He summed it up to the large crystals, which he hadn't notice at first, that were sprouting from the ceiling and glowing. However, the majority of the light was not coming from them, but from what looked like a large mirror sitting in a hollowed crevice in the wall of the chamber. And there, supporting herself with her staff, panting, and looking utterly spent, was Daisy. Below her, only a few feet away, were Falon and Freki. The ranger was on the ground, seemingly unconscious, while the wolf was on top of her, almost as if he had been attempting to shield her.

Varric felt his heart jump up into his throat. Fenris staggered to his feet and approached them. Freki whined as he was pushed aside while the warrior inspected the ranger.

"She's still breathing," he replied simply.

Varric silently gave thanks that their luck hadn't all but abandoned them. But while he was mulling over their recent "victory", Fenris had set his sights on the mage standing in front of the mirror. Varric made it a point to reach her before him.

"Daisy?"

The little mage was still trying to catch her breath, but managed a small smile, "It worked. And without blood magic!"

Varric took one look at the mirror. It was wider than it was tall and perhaps twice as big as the one she had kept before, but there was no mistaking what this mirror really was.

"I don't think this one was corrupted like the last one. I think-"

"Daisy...I think we should just leave it alone."

"But look at what it did. I could _feel_ it as soon as the demons dragged me into this chamber. I used it to drive them away with the fire. And just now too! They won't come near it. I think their frightened of it."

"And did you ever think it was for good reason, you fool!" Fenris shouted. He was still standing by Freki and Falon's limp form. He seemed generally too wary about the mirror and the wolf seemed to be of a similar opinion.

"I think he's right, Daisy. We should get out of here as fast as we can."

"But the mirror helped us."

"Like it helped you before?" Fenris shot back.

The mage made to reply to the elf when a low groan cut them off. Falon rolled to her side and flinched when she opened her eyes. She even drew her hood up against the bright light as she got back to her feet.

"Wh...What happened?"

Merrill seemed to relax once she realized the ranger was fine, "It's alright. I think the mirror-"

If the ranger had fur, Varric would bet it would be as bristled as the wolf next to her, "Damn it. Just get away from that thing!"

Daisy seemed shock by Falon's fiery outburst, but was still resolute in remaining by her newly found mirror, "But it created the light that drove the darkness away."

"By the... Not everything is so cut and dry, Merrill. Just like not everything that dwells in the light is benign!"

"That...That doesn't even make any sense!"

Falon scoffed. He had never seen the ranger quite so flustered, even when they were first thrown down into this hole, "For once, will you not let your stubbornness and arrogance get in the way, and just listen to us!"

As soon as she shouted them, he could tell the ranger instantly regretted them. Her words echoed off the chamber walls like some taunting child, and even he felt the harsh bite each time he heard them repeated. The only ones that didn't seem at all shocked by the ranger's angry retort were Fenris and Freki. In fact, Fenris had a presumptuous look which he made no attempt to hide, and that only seemed to rub more salt into the wound.

Daisy on the other hand, had a strange, almost detached look on her face. She glared down at Falon, "What makes you think you know anything about magic or how it works? I know what I'm doing and I don't need you, Fenris, or Varric to try and tell me otherwise."

"As I've said before," Fenris murmured to Falon, "mages will always be quick to turn back to the same dark magic and find some way to justify it."

"You are not helping," Falon shot back.

"I wasn't trying to."

"Daisy, come on. Aren't you listening to yourself? Whether it's good or bad, don't you see that it's already affecting you somehow?"

"I...I don't..."

There was something clearly wrong with her, and Varric would go so far as to bet his beloved Bianca that the twisted mirror behind them was the cause of all of it. It was almost as if the mirror could sense their defiance. Something in the air wasn't right and all he could think about right now was getting the mage away from here. Too late did he notice the swirling surface of the glass or the way it seemed to be trying to reach out to them.

"Daisy, watch out!"

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Everything hurt. Even her hair felt sore, but what was worse was that her magic seemed to be at the source of all of it. Every heartbeat seemed to cause the magic within her to pound and reverberate until the air itself seemed to be trying to suffocate her. Eventually, it receded, but as it did, something felt off.

She opened her eyes and saw the same chamber she had been standing it. The glowing crystals were still bright, the stone was still the same glossy black. But something was still filling her with dread. She began to pick herself up off the ground and it was then that she noticed the body that was slung over her.

"Varric?" The dwarf gave no response. "Varric!"

Merrill rolled the rogue onto his back. His eyes were closed and he was barely breathing. She tried to revive him, but there was nothing. Not even a grunt. Merrill looked back at the mirror. Its white, pristine surface had turned black, and where there had been none before, there was a long, jagged crack that ran the length of the mirror from one corner to the other.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"After what happened with Apate's group, are you sure this is a good idea?" the Ferelden mage asked as she followed behind the younger apprentice.

"You've been stuck in that room for almost an entire fortnight," Feynriel replied. "The air will do you some good Hawke. Besides, Euthymius needed the time with Anders. He can only do so much without examining how he's able to wield magic with Justice. And our presence would only be…"

"Interfering," Hawke supplied.

"I was going to say distracting…for both parties."

Hawke let out a defeated sigh as she continued to follow the apprentice through the crowded street. Yet despite the number of elves and humans occupying the small space, she noticed the almost automatic way nearly in which all of them parted and gave both mages a wide birth. Already Hawke was growing unnerved. There was no better tell that you were a mage than others' fear.

"Calm down," Feynriel muttered as they entered a large square. "You're in Minrathos, remember? They might be avoiding you, but it's for an entirely different reason. So you can put that hood down. It's hot enough without adding on more layers."

She grudgingly admitted that he had point, but she only pulled her hood away once they reached the sanctuary of the shade beneath the large trees that were kept well-manicured in the square. Truly, she wasn't prepared for this kind of climate. It wasn't even midday and already she was sweating as if she had been running up and down the Wounded Coast all morning. Thankfully, instead of perusing the vendors, Feynriel steered them over to a shaded stone bench that sat next to one of the many reflecting pools.

"So just what does Euthymius have planned for Anders?"

"I told you before, he doesn't know yet. He has to see what Anders and Justice are capable of before he can be of any help."

"So what's he been doing this entire time? He's gone to see Anders with that incense nearly every day now. I've gotten to the point to every time I smell it, I start to get nauseous."

"I have to agree with you a little on that," Feynriel replied as watched the long, brightly coloured fish swim to the surface of the pond. "I myself can't really tolerate it for more than a few minutes even with the windows open."

"So why does Euthymius insist on it?"

"Because, for its purposes, it does work."

"You're inferring about Justice," Hawke stated and the apprentice nodded. "So what does it do exactly?"

"It…calms spirits, at least that is how Euthymius describes it. Though, I've had some rather…strange side-effects while working with it as well. But then, that could be surmised to my own abilities as a Dreamer."

"What kind of side-effects?"

"Well, the _enhil_ is supposed to clear a mage's mind, allow them to think more clearly. When I first attempted to use it while dreamwalking, I realized too late that it was having an opposite effect on me. I wasn't able to control my dreams, but then, I'm still not sure if I was even dreaming at the time. I very well might have been hallucinating."

"What did you see?"

"Strange things…my mother. Warriors in living armor. Lights. Colors. A forest made entirely of shadows and whispers. I had lost all control for the first time in nearly two years. I was…frightened. Almost all of it was a blur besides a few bits and pieces, but then, without warning, I was awake."

"That's it? You merely had a few strange dreams?"

At that, the apprentice became somewhat abashed as he scratched his chin, "I, ah, no. I…woke up in the forest behind Euthymius's estate without a stitch of clothing. I was covered in scratches as if I had been running through the woods all night, but besides a few cuts and bruises, I was fine. I didn't sense any demons or spells, but I have been careful around the incense ever since then."

"But despite all this, you think it's alright for Anders and your teacher to be playing around with it?"

The apprentice gave a tired sigh as he turned back to her, "If there hasn't been an incident yet, there won't be, Hawke. I promise you."

"I've heard promises before, Feynriel, and I've learned not to take much merit in them."

Instead of anger or offense, the younger mage just gave her a sombre look before turning to some of the vendors stands. But as the apprentice perused the square, he suddenly became rigid and his features took on a panicked look. Luckily, he was able to keep it under control, but it was enough to put the Ferelden mage on full alert.

"Now what is it," she muttered as she appeared to casually study the square's reflecting pools.

"It's Denarius."

"What?!" Hawke turned quickly only to have the apprentice grabbed her by the arm and turn her back around so that they appeared to be watching the calm water of the reflecting pools. "What is he doing here?" Hawke hissed under her breath.

"I don't know. Denarius is almost never seen about like this seeing as he has slaves to do this kind of thing."

"Then I'll give you three guesses as to why he's down here mingling with all the 'common folk'," Hawke huffed before shouldering her way past the apprentice.

"Hold on," Feynriel stated as he grabbed her hand again, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Catching up with an old acquaintance," Hawke bit back. "What's it look like I'm doing?"

"Something entirely stupid," the apprentice stated emphatically. "Putting aside all the irrational reasons as to why you want to approach that magister right now, let me just simply stat that I would very much prefer if we did not cross paths with him."

"Why is that?"

Feynriel's eyes darted past her shoulder and into the crowd before returning to her, "Because…Euthymius openly insulted him a few months back. He probably doesn't even remember doing it, but Denarius is one to hold a grudge until Andrastae herself returns. I'm sure you have a valid grudge against him, but you're not going to make it any easy on the rest of us if you're seen with me. It's best if we just make a point to avoid him."

"What did Euthymius do?"

"It really isn't important."

"Feynriel."

"He…called Denarius a bumbling child who stumbled around with magic with the same astuteness and carelessness as one."

"That…doesn't sound too bad."

"Euthymius said it in front of the entire Conclave, which during the time, included the majority of acting magisters, the Doctrine, as well as the Archon himself. He then proceeded to compare Denarius's actions to a time when the magister was ten and set a beehive on fire for the fun of it, only for the bees to come out an attack him. He then went into vivid detail of the swelling and blubbering that followed." At that, Hawke gave the apprentice a strange look. "Euthymius is of the house Dravistus," he explained. "It is the same house that Denarius resides under." Hawke's eyes suddenly lit up with realization a second before Feynriel added, "Euthymius is Denarius's uncle."

Hawke seized the young mage by the front of his robes as she vehemently hissed, "You didn't think that was pertinent information that I would have liked to know the second you brought me and Anders to that house?!"

"It really isn't that important," Feynriel insistent. "Technically, as the eldest, Euthymius is head of the family, yet he was ostracized years ago by his father and younger brother. He is sort of the black sheep of the family. In truth, I never found out until a few months after Euthymius took me on as his apprentice."

"That still doesn't change the fact that he is Denarius's _uncle!_ And the fact that he's been kicked out by his kin doesn't really put us in an opportune position if Denarius was to find out Anders and I were here and living under Euthymius's roof."

"You're misconstruing the situation. So far, they have been estranged for some years."

"I can see why, one's vile and the other's practically insane."

"Please Hawke. Euthymius may seem…eccentric, but he has a better understanding of the Fade than any other human, elf, or dwarf this side of the Waking Sea, perhaps even all of Thedas. You have to trust me in this. Anders is in good hands."

Hawke watched the magister disappear amidst the crowd, but her scathing guilt and anger didn't leave her as easily. However, there were those rare circumstances where she was able to rein in her temper. This just happened to be one of them. With an exasperated sigh, she stepped back. But just when she thought she had given the apprentice a reprieve, the same frantic look came back to Feynriel as he hastily turned her aside again.

"Quick, don't show your face," he hissed.

"Now what?"

"Just don't catch his eye and keep your head down for a few moments."

Hawke did as Feynriel asked, but all the while she was painstakingly tempted to peek a look at this mage that so easily riled the apprentice. What intrigued her even more was that while he had been cautious in Denarius's presence, the younger mage seemed emphatically apprehensive of this other threat. It was only when Feynriel finally glanced over his shoulder and gave the signal that all was clear that she felt a sizable weight being lifted off the air around them.

"What's he doing out here at this hour. You almost never see him out in the open, much less during the day."

"And just who was that?"

"Kiol. He…assists Denarius."

"He's an apprentice?"

"No, at least not in the traditional way."

"Are you eluding to something else, Feynriel?"

"He is…not very welcomed in certain circles. The truth is not many know that much about him other than rumours about his…research."

"I'm guessing he doesn't dabble in herbs and healing tinctures."

"Far from it," the dreamer murmured. "It is not unheard of around here for mages to purchase slaves for…research," he spat as if the word itself tasted foul, "but it is known that for a length of time, Denarius had procured an exorbitant number of slaves. Yet, if you were to see his house now, the number of elves and humans there are no higher than any other magister of Denarius's status."

"Are you saying he bought all those people…to experiment on?" Hawke pressed. Feynriel lowered his head as if ashamed but slowly nodded. "What was he doing?"

"From what I understand, it had something to do with the elf that accompanied you back in Kirkwall. At least, that is what everyone assumed it to be. Denarius was entirely secretive of the details of it all, but he made no notion to hide his success with the warrior." In a low voice, Feynriel added, "After coming here, and seeing what these people have to suffer with every day, I can see why he had such a disdain for mages. Whatever happened to him?"

It felt like someone reached into her chest and gave her heart a severe twist the moment Feynriel voiced his question, yet somehow, she was able to get her voice under control and replied evenly, "He died."

"I…I'm sorry Hawke. You and your companions seemed very close."

Hawke waved his sympathies aside as once more tried to bury the guilt and pain, "I don't like this. I have an ill feeling all of a sudden. Let's do what we have to here and go back."

"Fair enough. Just let me get what we came here for."

"Fine, but let's make it quick."

Hawke made to go the vending stalls until the dreamer quickly stepped in front of her path.

"Perhaps I should take care of matters here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"Nothing. I simply have a report with many of the merchants and well…you have a very intimidating air about you. Look Hawke, it will just be faster and easier if I handle matters. I will be quick, I promise you."

Before she could make an objection, the younger mage darted off towards the stalls and vendors leaving Hawke to linger by the shaded pools. But Hawke soon learned the folly in this. Left with her own thoughts, she was finding it harder and harder not to drift back to those dark memories that caused the dull pain in her chest. Even the foreign smells she had never experienced before didn't distract her, neither did the foreign languages, or sounds. When she had first arrived at Kirkwall, she was captivated by the busy market streets of both Lowtown and Hightown. It was entertaining for her to watch the different vendors haggle and even more so when haggling would nearly turn into actual brawls. On more than a few occasions they had. Her past time was not equally enjoyed among the rest of her companions. Well…most of them at least.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Merrill didn't quite pick up on the subtleties that intrigued her, but Fenris…he would watch the same dance and sway like a well versed spectator observing a common sport.

While waiting for Varric and Isabel, they stood outside the Hanged Man instead of sitting in the stuffy air of the tavern. There, they watched Elegant barter with an unsuspecting sailor that had made port earlier that morning.

When Elegant was successful enough to wring three times a potion's worth from the man, Fenris abruptly stated, "It reminds me of the posturing and scheming of the magisters back in Minrathous."

"Is it that familiar?" Hawke asked.

He shrugged, "In some ways. Though, it's interesting you find it so engrossing."

"I can't really explain it, honestly."

He merely observed her for several moments before replying, "It's a useful skill to have."

"What is?"

"Being able to read others and discern when they are lying."

"I agree," she replied.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Hawke had been so submersed in her thoughts she had not recognized the subtle approach of the stranger until he was almost an arm's length away.

"Greetings. I don't believe we've met before."

Cursing her inattentiveness as she took in the light coloured hair and scarred face, Hawke replied in a controlled voice, "And you would be correct."

"But considering the astute youth you're accompanied with, I'm sure he's been dutiful and quite informative of me and my associates," the faired haired mage purred. "Euthymius's apprentice is very perceptive. Perhaps he owes it to his upbringing."

"And what are you alluding to with that?"

"Nothing quite so veiled. I was merely referring to the boy's trials in journeying here and acquiring his current status. Such endeavours tend to shape us into who we become, strengthen oneself, make us more hardy to life's tribulations, don't you agree? However, it can have the opposite effect, such as with young Feynriel. Not everyone is suited to the…vigour that this city is known for."

"You would be surprised to how some people can adapt," Hawke replied.

"And you would know all about adapting and surviving in a new world, wouldn't you Hawke?" The other mage gripped her staff while keeping her mask in place, although the mage next to her merely chuckled. "Please Hawke, don't get your pinions in a bind. Denarius was quite descriptive of you. Besides, it does not take blood magic to discern a Ferelden amidst a crowd. I dare say, you people tend to have a certain swagger about you."

"Are most people here this blunt when meeting strangers for the first time, or you simply the unpleasant exception?"

"Pleasantries are really moot at this point now, aren't they Hawke?" Kiol replied with an icy air. "We've both been informed of the other due to our own acquaintances and frankly, we both seem to find social conventions to be grossly constrictive."

"So if you are not here to make conversation, what do you want?"

The mage flashed her a bright, white smile that caused her gut to churn, "I was merely curious. I was told in great detail about how the Champion of Kirkwall came to Denarius's assistance. Despite the mishap with the storm, Denarius was quite appreciative of your help. Though, I found it puzzling."

"From what I understand, a storm hit, the boat was smashed upon the rocks, many people drowned. That is usually what occurs when a ship sinks."

The mage chuckled as he leaned on his staff, "No, I'm referring to before. The elf, he had been in your company for quite some time. You knew his master was looking for him. You even assisted in helping him kill Denarius's apprentice, Hadrianna."

"You seemed to be well informed of the whole matter," she bit out angrily. "What is your point?"

"My point, my dear, is you are a mage that knows a valuable resource when you stumble upon it. For whatever reasons, you had enough sense to utilize it for the time you were granted. What you chose to use him for were your own reasonings, yet in the end, you gave him up so easily. One ponders such actions…."

"You speak of him like he was some tool to be traded," Hawke spat.

"Interesting…isn't that exactly what you did with the slave?"

Not trusting her resolve to hold her in check. Hawke wordlessly stepped aside and made to hunt down Feynriel. However, she had gone no more than a few steps before the mage called out to her once more.

"A while ago, I was speaking with one of my suppliers and on the off hand, he mentioned that he had a rather unique specimen that he thought I would be interested in purchasing. He claimed it to be a human mage, male, early middle ages. Nothing quite unique at first glance, but he possessed a rather exceptional trait. Apparently he was possessed by a spirit of some kind but had not undergone any physical transformations. Interesting, isn't it? Sadly, there was an altercation and the specimen was lost. Pity really."

The fire in her hands began to burn with an entirely new intensity. Before she knew what she was doing, her staff was at the ready as her feet slid into a well-familiar stance. Hawke brought her hand back in preparation to strike, just as she noticed a grayish-blue glow begin to emit around the other mage's hand and her feet.

Too late did she recognize the silence spell. It felt like cold water rushed down over her head while her breath left her altogether. She was only able to hold herself up by the aid of her staff, but even then she stumbled as she struggled to keep her knees from buckling. As the mage attempted to right herself, she was suddenly grabbed by the back of her neck.

The other mage tauntingly chuckled at her prone status as he pulled her closer to the point she could smell his foul scent. For some reason, it reminded her of old blood…and something else she couldn't name, but it caused her stomach to churn in revulsion.

"This will be my advice to you, little bird, so listen well," the other mage hissed into her ear. "This is not your backwoods dirt farm, nor is it the festering sore of a city that you were once held in so high regards. As a mage, you may be able to walk free with your head held high, but there are far more pitfalls for you to traverse besides a few blundering slavers. If I were you, I consider very carefully just who it is you ally yourself with. You will soon learn that the Void holds more mercies than what happens within the walls of this city unless you have the right allies guiding you."

"And let me guess, you would be a very helpful and informative guide."

Again she heard the other mage chuckle and then felt as much as heard him take in a deep breath as if taking in her scent. Instantly, Hawke felt her skin begin to crawl.

"I'm not known for offering favours," Kiol purred, "but I could be convinced otherwise, Champion."

That sudden wave of sickening coldness evaporated as an all-consuming rage roared in her chest. Her hand instantly went to her belt. In seconds, the familiar grip of her dagger was in her hand. Without thinking, she struck out with enough deft and speed that even Varric would have given her recognition. But that brief moment of assuredness was snatched away. Hawke hadn't even seen the man move, but already her hand was in a steel-like grip and almost nearly as crushing.

The mage chuckled, "Spirit. I like that. The little wolf had it as well. It was entertaining when Denarius let me aid him in breaking the elf of it the first time. When I got wind that he would be returned, I was truly looking forward to doing it again."

Hawke wasn't even able to spit back another scathing remark. The mage was slowing tightening his hold on her and it felt as if her wrist was caught in a vice. Even when she was forced to drop her dagger, she knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he shattered her bones.

"That's enough, Kiol."

There was a brief moment of relief upon hearing the apprentice, but Hawke quickly snuffed it as she attempted to take the moment to dislodge the other mage. To her aggravation, it had no effect and merely twisted her arm harder for her insolence.

"Ah, Feynriel. Your timing is always so impeccable."

"I said that's enough. Let her go." With a sneer, the other mage threw Hawke back towards the apprentice. Feynriel was smart enough not to dote on her, and despite his attempts to keep a fight from breaking out, her wounded pride was itching to take it out on the other mage. "You know there is no duelling within the Magister's quarter," he continued as he stepped in-between her and Kiol. It was almost as if he were sensing her anxiousness.

"I am afraid you are misconstruing the situation, apprentice. Hawke and I were merely…exchanging pleasantries.

"I never knew pleasantries to include a silence spell and a dagger."

"You how foreigners can be, you having been one. But time amidst true culture and knowledge inadvertently snuff out barbaric tendencies."

"Seeing as we seem to have different perceptions of barbaric, you will have to forgive me if I do not put much merit in that," Feynriel replied evenly

The mage gave Hawke a sickening smirk before nodding towards Feynriel, "My best regards to Lord Euthymius. I pray his health is in good standing. Good day to you."

Both her and Feynriel watched the other mage depart, but while Hawke stared at the back of the mage's head and considered setting it ablaze, Feynriel stepped to her side.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he reached for her arm.

She pulled it from his grasp and shook off his concern, "It's nothing to fret over."

"Hawke…listen, I think you need to understand something about the way things are here."

Hawke was still reeling from her anger with herself, Denarius, and Kiol, but unfortunately, the only living body present didn't particularly deserve her wrath.

"I don't need you to explain how things are here," Hawke all but seethed at the apprentice. "I was given such a resplendent picture of Minrathous by the many tales of it. In fact, I was given the grand opportunity to experience it upon the first few days of my arrival here. Now, I'm sure your trials and tribulations are more than aspiring and inspirational, but the truth is, I've heard more than enough stories about Minrathous and now I am forced to tolerate it on a daily basis."

Surprisingly, the apprentice did not return her hostility. Instead, his features almost seemed to soften into passiveness. And for some inexplicable reason, it aggravated her.

"I understand, Hawke. We don't have to speak of it."

Biting back her ire, Hawke shoved her dagger back into her belt, "If we're done here, I would really like to go back now. I have the sudden urge to bathe."

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

He was unsure how long he had been here, but he knew it had been at least three days. That was because he could so vividly recall those last three days. It was something he hadn't been able to do in…a long time. Not only that, but he could remember the events back in Kirkwall. He remembered their faces, what he had done…who he had betrayed and why they were forced to flee.

But the rest of his past, the one with the Grey Wardens and from before, all of it was still a haze but at least it felt like the haze was beginning to lessen. Unlike before, he was beginning to remember their voices at least. The emotions behind them were stronger, more real. But the most frustrating part was that he felt he knew the outcome of everything, but simply couldn't grasp it. It was like being lost in the forest and knowing the path was somewhere, it was just finding it was the problem.

"You're still fighting it. You'll not get anywhere like you are now."

Anders let out a frustrating sigh as he turned to the old mage sitting across from him in the same position that they had been stuck in for what seemed like hours now. They had forgone chairs and were stuck on the dusty floor with their legs crossed and folded while he was forced to lay his hands palm up on his knees. He was never required to do this in all his years studying magic and in truth, he felt utterly ridiculous.

"You've been saying that for days," Anders huffed as he tried to wake up his foot that had fallen asleep.

"The spirit within you has not voiced his presence, has he?" Euthymius replied with his eyes still shut.

"No," Anders admitted somewhat grudgingly, "but we both know why that is." He glanced over the softly smoking jar that held the burning incense before turning back to the mage. "What I don't understand is all _this._"

"This," the mage replied in an even, almost dream-like tone, "is a means in which to call upon a balance between your spirit and the outside spirit that dwells within you."

"Then I know we're wasting time. I told you before, back in Kirkwall, Justice and I were-"

"Volatile, unreasonable, and single-sighted. In the Fade, Justice had a path and purpose, all of which was construed and made unattainable when he was cast into our world. And while your attempts were to help him, in the end you ultimately preserved this false reality for the spirit while allowing him to foreshadow your own."

"I…I'm not sure I understand."

"There is light and there is darkness. There is life and there is death. There is struggle and there is peace. All exist in this world and exists in a balance. Spirits that exist on the other side of the Veil do not fully understand this. They live in state of extremes, knowing that emotion or state so vividly that to ask them to understand otherwise and to tolerate it is difficult."

"If that's true, then how do you think you can calm Justice enough not to…possess me?"

"By reclaiming your past, who you are, and by affirming yourself, perhaps we can convince the spirit within you to coexist and not dominate."

"To seek a balance," Anders murmured.

"Correct."

"And you think I'll achieve this by sitting on the floor with my eyes closed?"

At that, the older mage opened his eyes and stared at the healer intently, "If you wish, Anders, you can forgo these exercises."

"You say that like there is an ultimatum involved."

"No. There are no tricks. No deception. No ulterior motive. It is simply that this whole endeavour is pointless if you do not truly desire to be free of the spirit Justice."

"What?! I've spent the better part of these last few days explaining to you the circumstances around Justice. I've no home, no life, and what hope for any semblance of a future is dim because I cannot predict his actions. Of course I want to be rid of him!"

Euthymius sighed and rubbed his furry eyebrows, before turning to the mage with a thoughtful look, "Anders, what is it that you want?"

"I thought that's what we've been talking about all this time."

"No, Anders. What we've talking about and trying to do is seek a solution to a problem. A problem that easily dictates your life at this point, but does not completely block out your dreams, now does it?"

"Dreams? I've lived in a tower most of life which was guarded by men and woman possessing the same single-minded, radical idea that was never questioned, spent another majority of it running or escaping from said tower and radicals, and the rest of it has been in a semi-lucid lull while in the company of a spirit. My aspirations are not that high at the moment."

"Perhaps then, that is where you need to start in orienting your own balance."

"Come again?"

"Simply put Anders, while you may not consciously think it, your subconscious sees no reason to extend such efforts if you have no aspirations for a future. It is most likely that Justice knows this, since he has a direct link to such thoughts."

Anders blinked dumbly at the mage as his words slowly sank in, "Are you insinuating that subconsciously…I don't want to live anymore?" The older mage simply shrugged his shoulders, untangled his legs, and proceeded to a nearby table to pour himself a cup of tea. Anders was suddenly back on his feet and glowering at the other mage, "After everything I've done, why would I simply wish to give up? I…I've…"

"From what you and Hawke have told me, you've tainted yourself to become a Grey Warden so that you would not have to return to the Tower, broke those oaths and bonds to flee to Kirkwall, proceeded to aid an underground mage resistance only to fail time and time again, and then finally decimate the city's Chantry, ultimately killing all within and in the same blow, ignite a mage rebellion within every major city from Seheron to Orlais."

"That doesn't mean I have given up!" Anders was still reeling from the other mage's accusation and as his anger over it began to rise, the irritating twinge in the back of his mind began to stir again.

Euthymius was slowly nursing his cup as he observed him, "I didn't say you have."

"Then why-"

"Anders, it is my belief that we all have a purpose in this world, whether it is of our own making, a path that we find, or if it is divine will, I believe all are debatable, but at the heart of the matter, we do not find balance until we at least find a tiny sliver of that purpose. A reason to fight, to push ourselves further, to inspire us."

It was then the healer suddenly felt the static in the back of his mind. In its place, there was a glimpse of a memory of another mage with vibrant blue eyes.

"A reason to fight…" Anders muttered as his thoughts began to drift amongst themselves. "She was the reason I…" He groaned while it felt like some had wedged an axe into his skull, but image and presence still remained. "She has lost everything. I didn't want her to lose anything else. I wanted her to be safe…even from me."

He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and looked up to see the old mage giving him a reassuring grin, "For good or ill, you have sacrificed much for her. And perhaps, you would sacrifice even more. Yet this Hawke, it seems she would rather take some of the burden from you rather than let you go entirely. If that is not something to strive to hold onto, my boy, then you will be hard pressed to find something else that will."

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, sorry about the abrupt hiatus for a while there. New job and all kind of put a wrench in the creative flow as well as time wise. I still intend to keeping posting chapters, I just can't guarantee a specific due date. Anyway, thanks to all who read and review, I appreciate it. Until next time.


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